


Let's Meet in the Middle

by klarolinedrabbles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged Up, Arranged Marriage, Arya is 17, BEEP MF BEEP, BUT ONLY ONCE, Eventual Smut, F/M, I do love good ol' angry boy Gendry so he'll definitely be written in for more of his KL persona, I promise, I second-guess myself when I write it A LOT, I'm gonna get em there though, IT'S THE ARYA BRIGADE, It's that simple, Make no mistake, Prince!Gendry, You've been warned, alright maybe twice, because I despise writing it, but do remember, but let's take a long road so she finds herself and is happy, but they don't yet, canonically at this point in their lives as in growing up at winterfell, gendry is 19, he grew up with different means so he's gonna have to be a little different ya'll, her low self-esteem, her unhappiness as a lady of a great house, however, if this ain't your cup of tea, just don't read it, let's delve into Arya's inner-narratives ya'll, ooc gendry, she will end up queen, stay tuned I guess lmfskdkskj, strap tf in, thaaaaaanks, they did not get along, they will though, we'll see, we're going digging everyone, will have a name day somewhere in here as soon as I figure out where, will not start off Sansa friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2021-04-04
Packaged: 2021-04-18 16:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 60,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21826228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klarolinedrabbles/pseuds/klarolinedrabbles
Summary: After Jon Arryn dies, the King rides for Winterfell, intending to name Eddard Stark his new hand, and to seek a match between his eldest son, Prince Gendry, to one of his old friend's daughters.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 384
Kudos: 615





	1. An Unexpected Meeting

Arya fiddled with the needle and thread in her hands, an exasperated sigh escaping her as Septa Mordane glossed right over her—again.

“Sansa darling, the detail you’ve managed to get here is marvelous. They could be carvings!” The cold woman praised, much to Arya’s annoyance.

She glanced down again, her poor work during her sewing lessons sure to get her in trouble once more. Her fingers were usually raw with wounds but today they were prickled with various stab wounds from the needle that felt so foreign in her hands.

It wasn’t for lack for trying, quite the contrary. Arya tried _so_ hard just to have something of passable standards in her lessons. But it was hard to find the motivation, even less the inspiration, to actually sew and practice, when all her efforts were significantly written off.

A part of her felt ashamed at the grumblings that went through her mind.

She’d made her rounds frequently amongst the small folk that lived at Winterfell and those who occupied Winter’s Town. They’d far prefer having her insignificant problem’s as opposed to their own.

But the life she know’s isn’t one that’s been overwhelmingly fulfilling for her. Resigned to a fate as a Lady of a great house, yet being repeatedly chastised for not meeting the standards for that said fate.

It was exhausting.

At ten and seven she always imagined having figured herself out.

But all she could say for herself was that at the very least she had yet to be married off.

She knew her father was holding off on arranging her match for as long as he could, Sansa’s too despite her eagerness towards the idea.

Truth be told, they were lucky to be in the North.

The climate was dreary and it wasn’t often that they entertained guests from outside the wild Kingdom.

If she were the daughter of a Southern Lord, odds are she’d have been sent off on her own long ago.

“Arya, I do hope the day will come when you decide to start putting effort into your studies.” Septa Mordane’s said harshly, diverting her attention from her own thoughts.

She grumbled to herself, flinching at how little of anything she saw in her Septa’s eyes when she adressed her.

They always seemed to sparkle when she spoke to Sansa.

“I am trying.” She defended softly.

Septa Mordane _barely _managed to hide the scoff that came out of her mouth.

It was as much attention as she was willing to give her because she soon turned her attention towards the other’s.

It wasn’t long before she almost wished for her Septa’s harsh gaze to be back on her. It was far better than Sansa and Jeyne’s hushed giggles in her direction.

Sansa’s direwolf, Lady, lay across her feet.

Her own direwolf was forced into the kennels.

“_That wolf of yours is to remain outside, it has no place inside my lessons. Perhaps the tales of the North aren’t as ridiculous as one might think. Your sister’s wolf is every bit the well-behaved soul that she is. Whereas yours is as wild as you.”_

Arya felt the anger at her older sister’s mockery of her pool deep inside of her. Her eyes growing heavy, the tears just threatening to fall. She wondered if the old god’s would judge her for the scarce moments where she almost anticipates Sansa’s match being made, if only so this torment would finally end.

No matter how estranged they grew, a distance that increased by the day, she never hoped Sansa’s intended was anything but kind and gentle.

But the guilt the gnaws at her for questioning whether Sansa makes those same requests for her was unbearable.

Her thoughts are interrupted once again, this time by Sansa and Jeyne’s snickers growing louder.

Her hands clenched tightly around the sewing ring, ignoring the slight pain when she felt the needle prick her skin again.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Sansa?” She asked diligently, having had enough of her elder sister.

“Jeyne was just commenting that whatever it is you’re sewing will wear quite nicely when you’re off lurking amongst the common folk.” She answered, just slightly concealing her laughter.

Arya rolled her eyes at how disengaged she sounded from the real world.

“It’s not lurking, it’s getting to _know_ them. They’re father’s citizens and responsibility, he always says it’s important for the people who follow you to know you. It’s important.” She said.

“Just who will you be in charge of?” Jeyne spoke bitterly. “You’ll be lucky to get married to the Lord of a small house.”

Arya grew angrier for a moment, before collecting herself.

“Like House Poole?” She jabbed, taking delight in the rage now visible in Jeyne’s eyes.

She’s grown up hearing just how better Jeyne would be as a daughter of House Stark. And how much Sansa would have preferred Jeyne to have been her sister instead of her.

Tossing a jab at Jeyne’s own house was necessary.

She was Arya _Stark_ and that was never going to change, no matter how much Jeyne wished it would.

“Girls, that’s enough.” Septa Mordane cut in.

Arya smirked at Jeyne’s now timid demeanor, huddled close to Sansa, listening to all her whisperings.

Probably reassuring her that she was right, that Arya was destined for nothing more than the wife to some obscure Lord.

She could only hope that whoever she ends up tethered to, likes her for who she is.

Because if anyone is expecting to be infatuated with her as the very prospect of a highborn lady, they will be sorely disappointed.

“What do you think he’s going to be like?” She heard Sansa whisper to Jeyne, the excitement on their faces evident.

Arya’s brow’s furrowed in confusion.

“Who?” She asked them.

Sansa sighed heavily.

“The Prince!” She exclaimed gleefully.

“Aren’t there three?” She questioned further, not understanding why they were running in circles around the topic.

“Honestly, Arya, it’s a wonder the god’s made _you_ the lady of a Great House. You could at least do your duty and keep yourself informed.” Jeyne argued.

“A lot of things are heralded as a Lady’s duty. But it doesn’t make it important nor essential, like the daughter of the Steward.”

Jeyne’s most gaped open.

Arya smiled back cruelly. Having had enough of her sister’s friend.

Sansa’s gaze altered back and forth between the two.

“The Crown Prince!” She continued on as usual. “Prince Gendry.” She clarified shortly after.

“He’s thousands of leagues away in the Capital, why would you be thinking about him?”

“Mother and Father received word before our lessons started, Jon Arryn is dead, the King rides for Winterfell.” Sansa revealed excitedly, much to her horror.

It wasn’t long till she realized why her stomach had filled with a sense of dread.

“He means to name Father as his hand.” She spoke out loud.

“If the gods are good.” Sansa pleaded.

Arya was baffled but not surprised by Sansa’s words.

“Why would you want Father to be Hand of the King? He’d hate it.”

“He’d be the second most powerful man in Westeros! I could marry the Prince and be Queen one day.”

Arya shoved down the urge to groan.

“It’s not as if he could say no if that’s what King Robert is traveling all this way to ask.”

She scrambled to find the words.

Her father becoming Hand of the King would change everything.

Instantly a pit of fear settled into her stomach.

A feeling she doesn’t think she’ll be free of any time soon.

* * *

“My love, are you certain someone from the North would be the best suited for the position as Hand of the King? Surely my father, or Jamie would be a much better choice.” Queen Cersei spoke diligently, her held high as it always was.

Gendry looked on at the ticks of irritation always visible from his father.

His face was turning red, as it usually did these days, his fists clenched tight.

“Ha,” he scoffed, gulping back copious amounts of wine. “The day I entrust the dealings of this Kingdom to someone from your family is the day the realm is truly lost.” He said, no shame whatsoever in the insult he was providing towards his wife.

Gendry seethed silently in his chair, from his seat across his parents.

He and his mother had their differences, particularly in her treatment of Edric and Mya, but she was still his mother and when it came to him, she was always as loving as a mother should be.

Although perhaps too loving when it came to Joffrey.

His mother’s face was tight, a sour look on her face.

“And it’s not ‘someone’ from the North, it’s Ned Stark. The man is more my brother than Stannis and Renly, we were raised together.”

“By Lord Arryn?” Myrcella asked innocently.

His father nodded.

“He’s the last real friend I’ve got, the job is his, I won’t hear any otherwise.” He finished.

“I’m sure Lord Stark will make a great Hand for you, Father. They say he’s the most honorable man alive.” He said, genuinely intrigued about his father’s greatest friend, who he speaks of with so much admiration.

He was about to ask something else before his mother beat him to it.

“Will you be seeking a match then?” She asked gently, despite the anger evident on her face.

Gendry held his breath, waiting for his father to answer. Releasing it only once he finally did.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “House Baratheon and House Stark should’ve been joined years ago with myself and Lyanna.”

Gendry once again diverted his attention towards his mother, heralding her for the remarkable sense of patience she’s developed for her husband’s constant insults.

“So we’re to have a Stark for a Queen then, father?” Myrcella spoke, excited and eager.

“As it should’ve always been.”

“I thought Gendry was to marry Margaery Tyrell?” Tommen asked.

Gendry resisted the overwhelming urge to groan.

The Tyrell’s had been of great help to the crown, but it was no secret to anyone that their real intentions for coming to court were above all else, to flaunt Margaery in his presence.

A woman who’s beauty was as accurate as the gossip foretold, but not someone he got along with increasingly well.

Margaery Tyrell was lovely, but she was no friend to him.

In a perfect world that’s who his wife would be to him—a friend.

“I’ll marry my heir to Mace Tyrell’s daughter when he grows a spine.” His father spit out. “I have not forgotten the siege he lay to Storm’s End, and I will not reward him for it by making his daughter the future Queen.”

Gendry felt his eyebrow raise at his father’s bluntness, but ultimately unable to argue with that logic.

“The Stark’s have two daughter’s if memory serves me correctly.” His mother noted, choosing once again to ignore one of his insults and steer the conversation back on track.

Gendry swallowed harshly, wondering just who his father was planning to shackle him to.

“When do we ride for the North?” Joffrey asked, with all the disdain Gendry was sure he could muster.

“By week’s end.”

Gendry cleared his throat.

“In that case, I ask of you Father, if you’ll allow me to ride out earlier.”

His father’s eyes narrowed.

“What for?” He asked harshly.

“If you’re to choose my match so soon, I’d like to enjoy what’s left of my time before it happens. I’m only asking for a few days headstart. We’ll wait for you in Winter Town and then ride to Winterfell together.”

His father took a few moments to ponder his request.

“The North is far too wild, Gendry.” His mother chastised. “Is it wise to allow him to travel through it’s terrain unaccompanied?” She asked.

“He wouldn’t be unaccompanied. We’ll send Ser Arys with him, and some of my household guard. Don’t stray from the King’s Road, and don’t be foolish, send for help if you should need it.” He advised.

Gendry nodded happily.

“Am I to go too?” Joffrey asked, his voice almost…hopeful?

Gendry barked out a laugh.

“You’re no match for what we’ll get up to out there, little brother.” He jested, but meaning his words in complete seriousness.

His brother was vile, but above all, a coward.

Joffrey scraped his chair against the floor, standing up in a fervor.

“You can’t talk to me like—“ 

Gendry stood up just as angrily before he even finished his sentence.

“Like what, emboldened with the truth?” He gritted out. “And what do you propose to do about it, Joff?” He continued. “I would say we can settle this with some sparring, but we all know some convenient excuse will get you out of it. And if you can’t come up with one on your own, mother will provide one for you.” He finished.

Joffrey’s eyes were rabid.

But he should’ve known that this was a confrontation a long-time coming.

Younger brother he may be, but they have never gotten along.

Their best days were one’s where by chance they wouldn’t run into each other.

“How dare you, you little—“

“Future King?” He immediately replied, towering over the scrawny blonde before him.

“Careful there, brother.” Joffrey spoke cruelly. “Men of power are dropping like flies these days.”

“Is that a threat?” He replied, amused. “Are you so daft enough to even try?”

“Boys, that’s enough.” His mother gritted out.

“Your mother’s right, shut your mouths! Gendry’s correct, Joffrey wouldn’t be able to keep up, he’ll remain here and travel with us.”

Joffrey seethed alongside him.

“I am not a child—“

“And I’m not nearly drunk enough to be argued with, you will travel with the party and that’s the end of it.”

He tried not to gloat to his brother, but he was finding it difficult to keep the smirk off his face.

“By your leave, your grace.” Gendry excused himself, bowing before his parents, and picking up Joffrey’s dropped chair on his way out.

He had a trip to pack for.

* * *

“Lady Stark, it’s so lovely to see you around these parts again.”

Arya smiled warmly, turning to Deana, one of the textile sellers in Winter’s Town.

“Again?” Her father interrupted, waltzing up behind her, no hint whatsoever of any legitimate anger on his face.

She looked down towards her feet where Nymeria lay.

Leaning down she gave her a few scratches before standing upright.

“Please, call me Arya.” She told her, making room for her father to enter the shop.

“Yes, my Lord. Your delightful daughter comes around every so often, she’s quite the familiar face.”

Her father looked towards her with a glint in his eyes.

“And what is it exactly that she comes around here to do?” He asked, now genuinely curious.

Deana’s face lit up.

“She’s quite the talker, that one. We usually have to coerce her into going back, but rest assured, we’d all love to keep her.”

“Would these visits be how you came to know the town is in need of an orphanage?” He asked softly, impressed.

Arya nodded quickly. There’d been an epidemic that spread through a few of the town’s some month’s back, and as such, the orphanage that existed in Winter’s Town was no longer equipped to care for the numbers they had.

Her father would have received word of it eventually, but her frequent visits into Winter’s Town tipped her off.

He smiled at her once more, squeezing her arm gently.

“Deana, we need as much as you can give us of every new pattern you have.” Arya remembered, knowing her mother had sent them into town for a purpose.

Her mother usually had her Ladies do this work, but with her frantic planning for the King’s arrival, she’d offered her help since her father was coming into town anyway.

“Yes, of course, my lady!” She said, fluttering around her shop, pulling out so many piles of fabric that it was making her head spin. “It’ll take me a few moments to get it all together for you, if you’d like to finish your other business in town.” She offered, her hands working as fast as they could.

“That’s quite alright, I was hoping to visit the Smithy here before I head back to Winterfell.” Arya agreed, nodding her head towards the warm woman and following her father out of the shop.

Nymeria followed hot on her heels, her direwolf just shy of six months old, and growing larger every day.

It wasn’t long before she started to whine and tug at Arya’s dress.

“Nymeria, where are you leading me towards?” She hushed to her direwolf.

Before long, she found herself standing in front of the smithy, exactly where she’d been intending to go.

“I was already coming here.” She grumbled, not missing her father’s amused expression. It was then that Arya took a look around.

“Father,” she called out, getting his attention almost immediately. “Are those…Baratheon guards?” She wondered, noting the armor on some of the men in the town.

He nodded.

“We received word that Prince Gendry rode for Winterfell earlier than the rest. He’s to remain here in Winter Town till Robert arrives. Your sister overheard me speaking of it with Robb and has pleaded that I come scour for him and welcome him to the castle. She tried to accompany us last minute with Jeyne, but they’d already agreed to help your mother with preparations.”

Arya giggled at that.

“So why haven’t you?” She pondered out loud.

“If the Prince wanted to be welcomed into Winterfell, I’m sure he’d have ridden right up to our gates, love. Beside’s, Robert clearly didn’t let him travel alone, he’s plenty guarded.” He told her. “I’m off to inquire with Jory about the Orphanage, you’ll be alright here?” He asked.

“Yes, father.” She answered, wrinkling her nose in jest when he placed a kiss to her temple.

Nymeria whined again at her feet, her eyes rolling at her insistence.

“Alright, alright, I’m going, you overgrown cat.”

She leaned down to lit the skirt of her dress, treading freely into the smithy, breathing deeply once she felt the heat.

“I’ll be right with you.” She heard Jeanor call out, but it was the man smithing in the corner of the forge that held her attention.

He was crafting something, a pommel it looked like.

It was magnificent.

“That’s beautiful.” She spoke, surprising herself by how softly she’d uttered the words.

The man’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting hers in a foggy haste.

His eyes widened at he sight of her, but slowly filtered down to the pommel he was polishing, looking at it with a look she couldn’t quite pinpoint..

She took the moment to look down.

A golden stag.

His gaze filtered around like he was waiting for something.

“You know, most people say thank you when they receive a compliment on their work.” She joked, stepping further into the shop, not noticing that Nymeria had significantly settled down since doing so.

His bright blue eyes were piercing into her, his black hair sticking out in various directions. Very much like her own, she’s sure.

“I uhh—thank you.” He replied shyly, having placed the sword down, his hands now resting behind his torso.

“You must be new here.” She commented.

“Pardon?” He asked nervously.

Arya laughed softly, finding his demeanor…cute.

“I said, you’re new here.” She repeated.

“What gave it away?”

“I frequent this town often.” She said proudly.

“Even the smithy?” He asked, his tone clearly disbelieving.

“Every once in a while, we have our own, but I’m here for something specific. Something I need hidden.”

“What would that be?” He asked, his voice growing stronger.

“Lady Stark!” Jeanor called out in surprise, wiping his hands on his apron. “M’lady, I must apologize for the wait. If I’d known it was you…please do forgive me.”

Arya smiled warmly, shaking her head, demising his troubles.

“It’s quite alright, Jeanor, I didn’t wait long. You’re a busy man, it’s only fair I wait my turn. Beside’s, I was merely admiring your new apprentice’s work. It’s lovely.”

Jeanor’s head snapped up from it’s lowering in shame for keeping her waiting.

“Oh, m’lady, forgive me once more for providing you with that impression, you see, he isn’t—“

“I’m not an apprentice, my lady, but just a smith passing through. Jeanor was kind enough to spare a few hours for me in the forge, upon payment of course.” The black-haired man interrupted, surprising her even further.

Arya looked towards the smith, noting how nervous he seemed to grow at the young man’s words.

She turned towards Jeanor for confirmation, not quite being satisfied when he nodded.

“A smith who’s so well-spoken?” She inquired, not missing his proper addressing to her.

His blue eyes brightened in surprise, a soft blush now present on his cheeks.

“I uh—presided in a village once that had a tutor who’d give me lessons.” He reasoned. “But if you’d prefer, I could always call you m’lady.” He said, the amusement clear in his voice.

Arya laughed.

“You may call me whatever you wish if I can get you to make something for me.” She proposed, still amazed at his craft.

He looked at her once more with those blue eyes that she could so easily get lost in, his gaze filtering over to Needle strapped around the waist of her dress.

Jeanor looked as though he was about to interrupt but the man spoke before he could.

“It’d be an honor.” He agreed. “Although you seem to already have a sword, odd little thing, isn’t it?”

Arya held her head high, knowing how unconventional her sword was, but loving it all the same.

“It is,” she spoke quietly. “That’s what makes it dangerous.”

The man before her smiled at that.

“Yes,” he said. “I reckon it does, although not as dangerous as the sword’s owner, I’m sure.”

“Flattery will not increase what I’m willing to pay you.” She joked, her stomach fluttering when that got a laugh out of him.

“Understood.” He agreed. “So m’lady, what is it you’ll be needing?”

“That pommel you made, I’d like you to make one similar. But in the form of a wolf, it’s the perfect name-day present for my brother.”

He shrugged.

“I can do that.”

Arya refrained from squealing in delight. Jon was going to love it, she thought.

He’s determined to insist day and night how he isn’t a Stark, but she knew otherwise.

Jon _was_ a Stark, he was her brother, and she wanted to make sure he never forgot it.

“We’ll send word to the castle when it’s ready, Lady Arya.” Jeanor called to her.

She nodded promptly, reaching down to urge Nymeria to stay put once she began movingtowards the back of the counter.

“Nymeria, to me.” She commanded, happy when the wolf obliged.

Her wolf started whining almost instantly.

“Do what you must.” She agreed, not making light of Old Nan’s observation that there was something…special about these direwolves. She believed that they were sent by the Old God’s themselves to protect them.

And after Summer’s restlessness when Robb took Bran riding to the winter’s wood, only for her younger brother to be ambushed by three wildling’s, she realized Old Nan was probably right.

The direwolves were a gift.

Jon said they were meant to have them.

So if that meant letting Nymeria do as she needed to, it’s exactly what she’d allow her to do.

“After the Queen of the Rhoynar?” The young smith asked her, gasping softly when Nymeria trotted right up to him.

“Yes,” she confirmed. Arya brought her hand up to stifle her giggles at his nerves. “It’s alright, she won’t harm you unless I command her to, or if she doubts your intentions.”

She looked on as Nymeria pressed her snout into his hand, nudging him until he felt comfortable enough to pet her.

His hand was shaking slightly, but he petted her all the same.

Nymeria’s ears flattened at the gesture, a low growl of content emitting from her.

“That’s good, right?” He asked her, not taking his eyes off the grey and white wolf before him.

“Yes,” Arya realized, a warmth flourishing in her chest that she couldn’t explain. “That’s very good.”

She allowed Nymeria to stay where she was a for a few moments longer before calling her back to her.

The smith laughed at the look of surprise Arya was surely exhibiting when her wolf whined at the command.

“It seems I’ve made an impression.”

“Aye, you have.” She said, trying to hide her shock. “I’ll see you before week’s end, Jeanor.” She spoke to the smith, refraining from telling him to stop when he bowed his head.

She was about to make her way out when she promptly swiveled on her foot.

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t asked you for your name.” She said, realizing she hadn’t done so since she stepped into the shop.

The blush worked it’s way back onto his cheeks, his eyes wandering in thought.

“Clovis, m’lady.” He answered her.

“Well, Clovis, you may call me Arya.” She offered, spinning on her heel, shooting him a smile before flowing out of the room, her ears burning hot.

She looked down again towards Nymeria.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say this wolf of hers almost looked proud of herself.

“You did well today, girl.”

* * *

Gendry’s mouth felt dry.

_Arya_.

That was Arya Stark of Winterfell, and by gods she was beautiful.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his apron, reaching out to lean on the table in front of him. The pommel he was crafting for himself, long forgotten.

“My prince, if I may speak freely?” Jeanor said softly, successfully yanking him out of the trance.

“Yes, of course,” he agreed.

“Why did you not tell Lady Arya who you were?”

Gendry pondered the answered to that.

Why _didn’t_ he tell her who he was?

He supposed on some level, it was purely out of panic.

His father had given no inclination whatsoever which of Lord Stark’s daughters he was intending to betroth him to. Nor did he know if _they_ even knew that a match with him was imminent.

Given the lengths he went to in order to escape the confines of such a match, embracing what could be his final days without being tethered to someone, now having met one of Lord Stark’s daughters—he wanted to spare her the impending possibility.

At least that’s what he’d tell himself was the reason.

In truth, once he’d realized who she was, he wanted to salvage every possibility of being matched with her.

What if she already knew and hated him for it?

Arya Stark was…breathtaking.

If he has any say at all in which Stark girl his betrothal is made to, it would be her.

If and only if, they’re allowed the confines to choose each other.

He would make sure of it.

“Call it a precaution.” He explained to Jeanor, the kind man all too happy to accept the answer. “Was she Lord Stark’s eldest or youngest daughter?” He asked.

“The younger one, my prince.” He told him, a sinking feeling settling into his stomach. If his mother and father had already settled on one of them, it would be to the eldest.

“How many children total?”

“Five. Six including Lord Stark’s bastard. There’s Robb, his heir. Then the lady Sansa, lady Arya, lord Bran, the youngest is lord Rickon. And Lord Stark’s bastard is Jon Snow.”

Gendry nodded, his hands fiddling with the pommel he’d been polishing, several ideas running through his mind as to what to craft for Arya’s order.

“If you don’t mind me asking, is it true the King is encamped at Torrhen Square?”

Gendry chuckled, maneuvering around the forge as best he could with it being such an unfamiliar place.

“That is what the raven said.” He informed him.

“Forgive me then, that’s only a few hours away, you’re likely to be inside Winterfell’s gates by tomorrow evening. How do you plan on finishing Lady Stark’s request by then?”

He felt a fire ignite inside him.

“I guess I’m just going to have to work through the night.” He proudly declared.

Yes, he thought, he’d make this pommel his best work yet.

And he’d pray to every god in existence that Arya Stark won’t hate putting his face to the crown prince’s name.


	2. Dazed and Amused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, lovelies!!! I hope everyone’s holiday has been stupendous so far! I was supposed to upload this yesterday and then got roped into going to the mall on Christmas Eve, which as you can all guess, was a Mistake. But here we aaareeeeee, chapter two! Thank you so, soooo much for all the feedback on chapter one, I'm so incredibly grateful and elated that you guys like it so far!

“Father, might I ask you something?” Gendry said, atop his horse and riding next to his father.

King Robert turned to looked at him, and he tried his hardest not to whimper under the harsh glare of his father’s face.

“Go on,” he said.

Gendry took a deep breath.

“Do you resent havinghad to marry my mother?”

His father froze atop his horse.

“I think we both know the answer to that, son.” He told him, the slightest hint of shame to his voice.

A fact that shocked him more than anything.

“You’re hardly an inexperienced man, Gendry, why are you asking me this?” He spoke harshly after a moment.

Bringing to light one of, if not _the_ most disappointing traits his father had.

“I know you’d find this hard to believe, but maybe I don’t give a shit where my cock goes.” He exploded in a whispered anger. “Maybe, this is about me wanting something better than what you and my mother have, a relationship with love, a relationship that _functions_. Has it ever occurred to you that your son might want to marry someone for more than just their House’s money?”

His father looked taken aback, before a smirk worked it’s way onto his smile.

“You’ve got that Baratheon fury in you, boy.” He praised him, a highlight that was short-lived. “Have you been spending time with Myrcella? All this talk about marrying for love and what not, it’s impractical and not the world we live in, Gendry. It’s best you learn that now.”

Gendry grasped the reigns of his steed harder than ever before.

“Is that because it’s what you genuinely believe, or because _you_ didn’t get to?”

His father’s face turned red in an instant.

“Now you listen here, boy—“

“I only want one thing.” He intercepted.

“And what would that be?” His father gritted out in response.

“Look at your own marriage in a mirror,” he softened his voice. “Everyone in Westeros knows how unhappy you are—“

“It’s not about happiness. When you’re King, the people don’t give a damn what will make you happy. They care if the coffers are full so they don’t get any taxes imposed on them. They care if there’s enough food in the city. All more important things to worry about than your bloody happiness. I’ll make sure you understand that long before I’m gone.”

Gendry sighed heavily.

“Would you seek to make me as miserable as you are, father?”

It was Robert’s turn to sigh deeply now, halting his horse completely.

“What would you have me do, Gendry?” He asked him, his face laced with genuine affection.

“You’re adamant to have a Stark by my side, I’m not in any way against the idea.” He treaded carefully. “But, I’m asking that neither you nor mother choose one of the Stark girls for me. Give me an opportunity to choose one and to…maybe have her choose me too.” He said heavily.

His father looked very much like he was trying not to look even remotely impressed by him.

“Very well.” He agreed, lifting a huge weight off of Gendry’s shoulders. “Don’t think I’m giving you an eternity to figure this out, you hear me? You’re ten and nine, it’s high time you be married, I’ve indulged your mother and held it off for long enough.”

“Understood,” he concurred. “Thank you, father.”

The King only nodded, never having been one to showcase much emotion towards any of his children.

Gendry looked forward to the castle-tops of Winterfell, a newfound excitement seeping in.

He just hoped it wasn’t in vain.

* * *

Arya stood tall in between Sansa and Bran, at the end of the line.

As the youngest, Rickon stood with their mother, despite not being a young boy anymore.

Jon stood behind them, with Theon.

A fact that angered her with each passing second.

She looked around at every single member of their household standing proudly, lining the courtyard of Winterfell, awaiting the arrival of their King.

The sound of the drums could be heard so closely now. She’d been in Winter Town, observing as she usually did when she first heard the sounds.

The thrumming in her ears only grew louder as the first few people began filtering in.

Lannister guards. Baratheon guards.

All by the dozens.

But it was who rode in behind them that surprised her the most.

There he sat, atop his horse, followed by a short-haired blonde man.

If she weren’t standing in such a frigid line, she’s sure she would’ve fallen over.

It was him, the man from the Smithy. The one she’d commissioned to make Jon’s new pommel.

He met her gaze almost instantly, a blush creeping up on his neck, just as it had yesterday when she met him.

_Clovis_.

She cannot believe she fell for that. 

The stag head pommel made a world of sense now, she realized. And in Lannister gold, for his mother’s great house.

Arya had been so preoccupied staring that she hadn’t realized the Kingsguard led the King into their walls.

It wasn’t till Bran squeezed her arm into kneeling that she allowed enough air into her lungs.

The tense moments that followed whilst her father and the King stared each other down was unbearable in a dress. But once her father was allowed to rise, so did everyone else.

“Over ten years, where the hell have you been?” The King spoke roughly,she’d shared a look of question with Sansa, who was just as surprised at the level of grit to his voice as she was.

“Guarding the North for you, your grace. Winterfell is yours.” Her father responded, after the King stepped back from their embrace.

“Arya, do you _see_ them?” Sansa whispered excitedly.

“Who?” She asked, and even though she and her sister weren’t facing each other, she could feel her eyes rolling right alongside her.

“The Prince’s!” She squealed in delight. “Oh look, they’re both so _handsome_.”

Arya grumbled under breath.

She saw them alright.

One prince in particular.

He kept trying to meet her gaze and she was embarrassingly too wiling to oblige.

Their eyes were locked for a long while before Sansa smacked Arya’s arm with her own as the King made his way towards them.

Arya plastered the most pleasant smile she could muster onto her face, bowing properly before King Robert.

His gaze lingered just a moment too long her, so much so that she began squirming where she stood.

Sansa squealed again as the Queen made her way out of her carriage with the youngest Prince and Princess by her side.

“Take me to your crypts, I want to pay my respects.” The King barked out towards her father.

“We’ve been riding for a month, my love,” the Queen called out. “Surely the dead can wait.” Her voice grew colder.

“Ned,” he called, ignoring her words entirely, his gaze passing over her once more before leaving.

And for just a few moments, Arya had forgotten the words she wished to exchanged with _Clovis_.

* * *

Gendry politely shied away from the fluttering eyes of the girls in charge of showing him to his room.

He could still feel his chest hammering away at the sight of Arya.

And the look she’d been giving him once she realized he wasn’t who he’d pretended to be when she met him.

His nerves were getting the better of him.

Eventually he worked up the nerve and asked the girls assigned to unpack his things.

He’d tried to dismiss them, but they wouldn’t have it.

“Might I inquire with you ladies as to where I would find Lady Arya?” He asked delicately.

The two girls shared a nervous look between them, about to answer before someone else did for them.

“Right here.” He heard a sharp voice call out.

He turned his attention towards the opening of his room.

There she stood.

Arya stood in his doorway, eyebrow raised, and as magnificent as he remembered her.

The only presence that could’ve perhaps surprised him more than hers was that of her direwolf.

A direwolf who sure enough, was trailing her mistress as though it was her sworn duty.

The wolf trotted right into his rooms, making a beeline for his knees which she nuzzled with what he hoped was affection.

The two serving girls gasped softly.

He bent down to gently rub the spaces behind her ears.

When Nymeria looked towards Arya, he did too.

Her posture and face being remarkably difficult for him to read from where she stood.

She treaded softly into his room, delighting him when she didn’t ask for an invitation inside.

“That’ll be all Bethany and Elaena. I’ll finish helping the prince settle in, my mother’s orders.” She spoke confidently, a warm smile on her face, and on the faces of the girls before him.

“Very well, m'lady.” One of them spoke to her happily, before bowing. “Shall we see you later?” She asked in a quieted voice, peaking Gendry’s curiosity.

Arya smiled brighter this time.

“Of course!”

The two nodded in content, turning to him and bowing.

“By your leave, my prince.” The taller one requested, peaking her head up to look at him.

“You may go. Thank you, ladies.” He dismissed, gulping when they left, leaving the door open, only for Arya to waltz over and close it.

“What’s happening later?” He asked, emboldened by her happier demeanor just a few moments ago.

“Tea,” she answered simply, leisurely walking around his room.

“Tea?” He asked her, abhorrently confused.

She shrugged.

“If I’m required to gather for tea, I’d much rather do so with girls I can actually stand.”

Gendry laughed at that, growing fonder of her with every passing second.

“Which one are you?” She asked brazenly, leaving him in a stupor.

He blinked back, too busy trying to get a good read on her expression.

“I beg your pardon?” He asked.

“Which prince?” She asked again, as though she already knew the answer. “There are three of you, are there not?”

“Yes m’lady,” he jested, holding onto their joke from the day before, not missing how her breath caught in her throat. “I’m the eldest, Gendry.”

He watched her walk around some more, noting that her sword was strapped around her waist, unlike at their arrival.

The thin, long blade had more than surprised him when he’d first laid eyes on it. He didn’t spend as much time in a forge as he would like, but he’s fairly certain that even if he were allowed that luxury, he’d have never come across a sword like hers.

He took in her long brown hair, a short braid at the top to keep it out of her face, while the rest hung loose.

She was shorter than him by quite a number of inches, her frame shaped marvelously in a gray and pale blue dress. It was cinched at her waist, her chest covered but promptly featured. He found it difficult not to marvel at her, quickly diverting his eyes to the nearest wall when she flipped around.

“What would the crown prince be doing in a Winter Town forge?” She inquired. “I—you let me commission you for work, you knew who I was, are you playing some sort of jape?” She questioned him further.

He felt his palms grow increasingly clammy.

“I don’t think I’m capable of performing such an act against you, m’lady.”

Gendry looked down to avoid laughing in her face at how lovely he found it when she growled.

“Don’t call me that.” She snarked.

“As m’lady commands.” He joked, feeling content when he noticed the tiniest smirk on her face.

“I meant what I said yesterday in the forge, you may call me Arya.”

Gendry pondered how long he could look at her before it was considered too long.

Every step she took made his breath catch.

He only wished she’d take a few steps closer towards him.

“Very well, Arya.” He said, adoring how the name sounded coming out of his mouth. “Your mother sent you to help me? Remind me to give her my thanks.” He flirted, looking at her appreciatively.

Arya lowered her head to disguise what he was sure was a pale blush on her cheeks.

“I’m afraid I lied.” She revealed to him, a shrug to her shoulders. “My mother would never depend on _me_ to welcome anyone.” She told him, her voice sounding almost somber at that fact. “Least of all you.”

A tone to her that he didn’t like one bit.

“I’m sure your lady mother values you for much more important things.” He tried, a pitiful way to attempt at being helpful.

She smiled sadly.

“Well when you find out what those things are, please do let her and myself know.”

He opened his mouth to speak, quickly closing it when he realized anything he said was unlikely to suffice.

“Before I forget, I have what you requested.” He remembered excitedly, turning to rummage through one of his trunks and pulling out a wrapped bundle he’d intertwined with his clothes.

He so sincerely hoped that him keeping to his word was enough to take her mind off of whatever sadness she was exuding.

Gendry realized how ridiculous it was that he seemed to genuinely care so much about someone he barely knew’s well-being but for some reason he did.

It was as inexplainable as Nymeria having settled near his feet.

He moved cautiously towards her, extending the parcel in his hands out to her.

She looked at him in confusion.

“I don’t understand.”

“I do believe you requested one pommel in the shape of a wolf.” He said, matter of fact.

Arya scoffed.

“Well yes, but from the crown prince who for some reason was hiding as a commoner. Knowing who you are, you didn’t have to actually make it!” She exclaimed, her face heating up in something he couldn’t quite pin-point.

“I wasn’t hiding.” He defended himself.

“You certainly weren’t living up to your appearance.” She rebuttled instantly.

“You didn’t even know my name, so should I be surprised to know that Baratheon guards posted outside were not obvious to you?” He teased. “I thought perhaps what I was crafting would’ve been a rather blunt implication but that one soared over your head too.”

Arya’s chest heaved, which he was becoming painfully aware of with each breath she took.

“Yes, you must forgive me my prince, if I didn’t immediately realize that some bumbling, nervous wreck of a smith was the future King of Westeros.” She fired at him, a rather satisfied smile gracing her face.

He was certain a matching one was adorned on his own.

Gods, she was the most riveting person he’d ever met.

“Very well,” he began. “I suppose that means I won’t be handing this to you?”

“I hope you don’t expect me to pay you for it.”

Gendry barked out a laugh.

“First it was no promises of persuading you to overpay, now you don’t plan to pay me at all?” He laughed.

“Of course I mean to _pay_, I’m sure Jeanor will appreciate the extra wages.” She sassed, swinging gently on the balls of her feet, her excitement at what he held in his hands evident.

Gendry relented, taking pity on her jittery enthusiasm, unwrapping the parcel in his hands and holding it out to her.

He was certain he’d never seen a more beautiful sight than the way her eyes lit up once he presented it to her.

“If I’d known you each had real wolves, I’d have asked you the color of your brother’s wolf’s eyes so they could match.”

Arya quickly shook her head, reaching out to grasp the white pommel in his hand.

“It’s _perfect_.”

“I’m certain Robb will appreciate the gesture.” He preemptively guessed, doubting she’d gift her younger brothers with something for their sword.

Arya’s brows furrowed at his words.

“It’s not for Robb.” She told him. “It’s for my brother Jon.”

Gendry was taken aback.

“Your father’s bastard?” He asked, not meaning for that to come out the way that it had.

Further regretting his lack of a filter when he saw the anger swell in Arya’s gaze.

“Do you have a problem with bastards?” She asked dangerously soft.

Gendry sputtered, his hand flailing out in a panic.

“_No_, not at all.” He defended. “I have two bastard siblings myself, and I love them very much.” He told her earnestly.

This visibly surprised her.

“You do?” She asked. “Love them, I mean?”

He nodded reverently.

“My mother isn’t particularly kind to them, neither is Joffrey, nor the rest of court, but before Joffrey was born it was just the three of us. They’re my brother and sister, no matter who their mother is.”

“My mother isn’t kind to Jon either.” She said shamefully. “I’ll be amazed if you even see him while you’re here. She’s already given him a stern talking to about how his presence would insult your family.”

Gendry saw clearly the anger bubbling inside of her at this.

It was all he needed to see before swearing to do something about it.

“He’s my favorite person in the world.” She continued.

“Then I can’t wait to meet him.” He told her, reaching out to grab her hands so he could place the gift in them.

She looked up at him with eyes so gray, they were more beautiful with each passing second.

“Jon’s direwolf is white, so I say that’s earned Jeanor double what I would’ve paid Clovis.” She joked, gesturing to the white wolf head pommel in her hands.

Gendry had something to say on the top of his tongue, but instead took the time to rather admire the look on her face.

Her eyes sparkled with a glean he’s never seen in anyone.

It was as beautiful to look at as the person who bore the expression.

“It pleases me greatly that it’s to your satisfaction.” He told her. “Arya I was wondering if you might—“ he made to say, but was interrupted by a gentle tapping against his door.

He huffed, being mindful of Nymeria who’d been nestled between their legs as he moved—stalked more like it—to open the door. His temperament got the better of him, thrusting the door open with such force that the person behind it visibly jumped.

He was met with bright red hair, and a pleasant smile despite his hastiness.

“My apologies.” He offered immediately.

The girl bowed impressively before him.

“No apologies necessary, my prince.” She said, her voice as lovely as a song. “I’m here because—Arya?!”

Her shriek spurned him, turning towards the brunette who managed to occupy his thoughts with a single word out of her mouth.

Nymeria walked past them, moving to nuzzle and cuddle up to who could only be one of her littermates. He hadn’t noticed the calm direwolf that accompanied who he now realized was lady—

“Sansa.” Arya greeted curtly, signaling to him what was surely an unconventional dynamic between sisters.

Sansa’s face hardened just at the sight of her sister.

“Lady Sansa,” he acknowledged, noting how her smile returned the moment he spoke to her.

How bizarre, he thought.

“I know we were all supposed to be formally introduced tonight at the feast, but my mother sent me to perhaps show you around the castle.” She offered hopefully.

Gendry slowly turned to look towards Arya, seeing her laugh to herself and throw her arms up in defeat.

He understood now, her sadness the she seemingly hid very well.

“Don’t let me stop you, I was just leaving.” She tossed in, striding towards the entryway, Nymeria springing up at her mistresses movement.

Sansa looked as though she was going to say something.

It was _right_ on the tip of her tongue, he took note. But she didn’t bring herself to say whatever she’d planned, glancing wearily towards him every time she dared.

Arya chuckled as she walked past them, swiveling on her heel and looking him right in the eye.

“My prince,” she dismissed herself, dipping into a bow nowhere near as precise as her sister’s, but infinitely better to see.

His stomach sank a bit watching her leave, not quite knowing what to do now that he was left with a very—bright—girl in his presence.

“I’d be delighted to take you up on your offer, my lady. Please, lead the way.”

As they fell into step alongside each other, he just prayed he didn’t regret this.

* * *

Ned Stark looked upon the best friend he’s ever known, with an aforementioned range of emotions coursing through his mind.

There was a great love in his heart for his oldest friend.

But there was also a fear deep within him every time he laid eyes on him.

The secrets of the past were one’s just a single other soul is in the know of.

Circumstances he intends to maintain until his death.

The King’s huffing caught his attention after a while, knowing that with age and the years, he wasn’t as fit as he once remembered him to be.

His face was beet red, the long walk through the levels of the crypts beneath Winterfell taking a toll on him.

They stopped once they reached the statue they’d gone through all that effort to pay a visit to.

Robert’s shoulders sagged, an old ache in his heart reemerging at the sight.

Ned let the King take as much time as he needed, feeling a sense of peace when he placed a feather in the hands of the statue meant to resemble his sister.

“Did you have to bury her in a place like this?”

Ned fought the urge to whimper at his words before mustering the courage he needed to.

“She’s my sister, this is where she belongs.”

Robert nodded in understanding, turning to him, a fierce glint to his eyes.

“I need you, Ned.” He told him, punching the air right out of him.

He immediately knelt to him.

“I am not worthy of such an honor.” He pleaded with his friend.

Robert laughed heartily.

“The man heralded across every kingdom for his honor, claiming to not be worthy of an honor?”

Ned exasperated a laugh at that.

“Jon Arryn was one of the few people in the capital, hell, the entire world, that I trusted. With him gone, I feel just as lost as before I took that damn throne.”

Ned nodded.

“If it pleases your grace, might I have some time to think it over?”

He and Cat both knew this is what Robert was traveling to ask. They’d discussed it every night since they received the raven.

“Of course,” he agreed, hesitating before saying something else. “There’s one more thing. You and I would’ve been bound by blood had I married your sister before she was taken from me.”

His heart plummeted at the beginnings of this conversation.

“It’s not too late,” he began. “I have a son, you have a daughter, we’ll join our houses.”

Ned’s mouth gaped open.

Now _this_, he hadn’t been prepared for.

With him possibly accepting Robert’s offer to be his hand, that would’ve entailed maneuvering almost his entire family to King’s Landing.

It would’ve set into motion what he’d been avoiding for so long.

Prospective marriages for his daughters.

Most weren’t too keen on sending their sons to the North, and most weren’t at all inclined to come here.

The Northern houses have been exceedingly patient in seeking matches between their sons and his two girls. It has provided them both with as much freedom as the god’s would allow.

Sansa was most eager to have her match made, whereas Arya showed zero interest whatsoever, a sad sense of acceptance coming from her lately.

But one of his daughters as Queen.

“I’m certain Sansa would be most delighted—-“

“Gendry and I have agreed that the selection of whichever one of your daughters not be made for him. Some nonsense about wanting to choose and hoping she chooses him in return. The boy was spitting fairytales, I tell ya. But he is my heir, and what type of father would I be if I didn’t indulge him just a little, eh?”

Ned forced himself to chuckle along.

There was one thing he was sure of, both of his daughters being up for consideration as future queen wasn’t going to leave many parties happy, except possibly Prince Gendry.

Sansa would rage at having to compete with her sister, Arya would tear through the castle at having to be considered at all. And Catelyn would ask her new gods what she’d done to deserve such a quarrel between her two daughters.

He pondered deep just how he would possibly break the news, Arya coming to mind first.

His willful and effervescent daughter was everything the people loved in his sister, doubled in amount.

It surprised him to admit that she would make a wonderful Queen, but she had perhaps the least amount of interest in it.

“A great honor you’ve presented to my house, your grace.” He told him, at a loss for words.

“Very good,” the King responded. “Now, let’s have some wine, what do you say?”

Ned laughed again, leading his old friend back to the castle grounds.

* * *

Gendry sighed in slight relief as Sansa was called away for other duties, wincing as he recalled the expression of her face.

And her words.

_“I’d love to speak with you more during the feast.”_

There’s much he isn’t proud of, and admitting to himself how dreary he found the elder Stark’s girls company was one of them.

He was fully immersed in the concept of trying not to get ahead of himself in how he saw the relationship going. But so far, there was no…substance, to their conversation.

Sansa Stark was as lovely as they come, but when he spoke with her, there wasn’t much he found himself feeling excited about.

He quieted his own mind’s nagging about hardly knowing her enough to make such claims.

He’d been walking in such a daze that he hadn’t realized he stumbled upon a portion of the Winterfell training yards.

What surprised him most was the gentlemen who was standing there beating a target post with a sword.

“Whoever you’re imagining that to be, they’re likely dead by now.” He spoke, surprising the man in front of him.

The shaggy dark-haired man jumped in surprise, his eyes widening at the sight of him.

“My prince!” He acknowledged, dropping the sword in his hands and bowing his head.

Gendry reached his hand out to him, confusion striking him when he hesitated.

“Do you not wish to meet me, I could find a better time if you were in the middle—“ he tried, wondering if he’d produced some type of offense towards him.

“No, no, you honor me with you presence. But I should probably be on my way.” He told him, looking pained as he reached out to grasp his hand in return.

“Of course, I’m sure we’ll find another moment. At the feast, perhaps?” He proposed.

The man winced, only furthering Gendry’s confusion.

“He won’t be at the feast.” A familiar voice called out, exiting from the weapons room behind the training yard.

Gendry turned far too eagerly towards Arya’s direction, her hair in disarray but lovely all the same.

This was the second time today she surprised him.

“Oh?” He said out loud. “Why not?” He questioned.

Arya and the man exchanged a look between them, his of pleading, and hers in complete and total defiance.

“Because my mother forbid him to attend.” She said plainly, the anger radiating off of her.

Ah, he realized, this must be Jon.

Jon’s face looked tired, a sense of dread felt from him.

“Arya—“ he groaned out.

“The prince asked why, I did my duty by answering him. If mother takes issue with my complying with the crown prince, I’m sure we’d all be surprised.”

Gendry laughed at that, realizing how often she must do this—defy her mother.

“You must forgive my—the lady Arya.” He apologized, clearly having been instructed not to acknowledge any familial ties he may share with the members of House Stark.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He waved off. “You must be Jon.” He acknowledged.

Jon Snow’s face became more surprised.

“I cannot imagine lady Sansa had any kind words, my prince.”

Gendry neglected to mention what Sansa told him when she informed him of her three brothers, he’d told her he had heard it was four.

_“Gods no, just the three. That’s what mother says.”_

He remembered feeling oddly reminiscent about his own mother.

She often said something similar when he proudly proclaimed that he had three bothers, not two. And two sisters, instead of one.

He constantly worked to make sure Edric and Mya felt included, and if he needed to do so here, he would.

“Rest easy, she spoke nothing of you.” He told him. “Arya however, has spoken a great deal of you, and I must say, I’ve been eagerly anticipating meeting you. Please, call me Gendry.” He said, extending his hand once more.

Jon chuckled, reaching for his hand, a solid grip on him.

“I’ll have to take your word for it on speaking with this one at all.” He teased, getting a firm kick in the leg from her.

“Oh yes, she gushed on and on about you, I eventually had to tell her to stop. Now tell me, will you be making a habit of appearing out of the shadows? That’s twice today, m’lady.” He joked.

Arya huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Now this is just unfair.” She complained, fighting the urge to smile.

Speaking of things that weren’t fair, he remembered.

“I want you to ignore any restrictions you’ve been given.” He said. “I’d like it very much if you accepted to be my guest at tonight’s feast, Jon.” He announced.

Arya gasped whirling to look at Jon who’s mouth was agape.

“I could never intrude on such an important gathering.” He stumbled to say. “I appreciate the offer, but Lady Stark is right, my presence alone is an insult to your family, to be seen dining with them, is ten times the offense.” He finished, looking down at his feet.

Gendry immediately shook his head.

“Well I shall be very offended if you refuse my offer.” He said, not missing a beat in what was a well-rehearsed excuse.

Arya was looking on in amusement.

“Then in that case, he accepts. Jon will be there, I will make sure of it.” She said confidently, leaping forward and gripping her brother around the arm. “You can’t very well refute a royal invitation, Jon.”

He smiled happily, excited that Arya took his cue.

The glean in her eyes was something he was overwhelmingly content to be the cause of.

“Excellent. I look forward to seeing you _both_.” He emphasized, whisking himself away before she could refute.

He’s not sure what he’s set into motion by doing what he did, but he did know he didn’t regret it.

* * *

Arya watched Gendry walk away, a fluttering in her stomach that she was finding it difficult to put a name to.

Breathing heavily, she turned to Jon, quickly twirling away when he’d caught her staring.

“Since when are you on speaking terms with the heir to Westeros, little sister?” Jon immediately prodded, whirling towards her new direction so fast that his hair had bounced.

Arya pondered telling Jon the truth about how she became so acquainted with Prince Gendry. It’d be out of sorts for her to keep it from him, Jon was someone she told absolutely everything to. In someways she viewed him as her other half.

The person who keeps her sane, and above all—happy.

“I—met him before the King’s arrival.” She revealed to him, wincing when he blinked at her in shock. “It’s a long story.” She grumbled in the end.

“I do believe we’ve got nothing but time.”

“You and I both know that isn’t true, I’m expected to report to Septa Mordane in a few moments to bathe and change for tonight’s feast.”

“Ah yes, the feast which I’m now obliged to attend, despite your mother forbidding me from doing so. What possessed you to tell him the truth, I was about to excuse myself when you walked up.”

“It’s not fair that you be barred from entering the feast.”

“Arya—your mother is the lady of this castle, I am to follow her orders, it’s how things are done.”

“Well the way things are done is horse shit.”

Jon doubled over in laughter.

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. You’ve spoken to the Prince.” He said. “And judging by the looks you gave each other, I’d say quite a bit.”

Arya could feel the heat on her cheeks.

“Oh, what _looks_?” She sputtered, instantly turning towards her habit of pacing.

She used the anger she’d felt at seeing Sansa show up to Prince Gendry’s room, without having had to lie about their mother sending her, to fuel the tone in her words. The humiliation of having been proven right so quickly was unbearable.

Of course their mother sent Sansa to personally greet the crown prince. She’s probably already arranged to have them seated together at the feast too.

Her emotions must have been written all over her because her brother wasn’t planning to let his jest go.

“Robb is hardly to believe me when I tell him that our little sister is smitten, and with the prince, no less!” He joked, following her several steps.

“I—am most certainly not.”

Jon griped her forearm, halting her from taking another step.

“Tell me about him.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Arya.” He chastised.

“I met him accidentally.” She told him, knowing how ridiculous that sounded.

“_Accidentally_?” He questioned her. “I know you and Robb like to joke with me about my mind, but surely you think me smarter than to believe that?”

Arya sighed deeply, turning to face him.

“The day before the King’s arrival, when I went to Winter Town with father.” She began. “There were Baratheon guards around, father told me he’d received word of the prince having ridden ahead of the King. So he was somewhere in Winter Town, I just didn’t know where. Nor did I have any desire to find out.” She told him truthfully.

“I went to see Jeanor for something, but when I walked in, there was this man polishing a pommel. So I complimented him on it, and requested that he make something for me. Imagine my surprise when that very man rode in before the King today.” She concluded.

Jon had his hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles, stopping when he noticed how mortified she surely looked.

“Not that I agree with your mother on much, but trouble really _does_ seem to follow you around.” He told her, a big smile having worked it’s way onto his face.

“Prince Gendry seems like a good man, and rather taken with you if I might say.”

Arya felt her heart quicken.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She denied, adamantly refusing to entertain anything of the sort.

“I know a thing or two about a man fancying a woman, Arya.”

“He doesn’t even _know_ me.” She argued, finding such a concept ridiculous.

“If it were up to me, I’d keep you locked away forever, Sansa too. But he doesn’t need to know you completely in order to find you attractive.” He argued, as though saying the very words pained him.

The grimace on his face was one she’d remember fondly forever.

“You sound ridiculous, you know that?”

“Says the girl who doesn’t grasp that you don’t need to know someone intimately to find them desirable?” He fired right back. “And I’m the one who’s intelligence get’s questioned.” He mumbled under his breath.

She wondered for a moment if what Jon was saying had any truth to it.

There was a level of sheltered to her life that she was overwhelmingly aware of. The North was far, remote, and harsh. Her father no longer competed in tourneys, so he hardly ever arranged for their family to make the journey to one. The last one she’d been to was when she was ten and three.

Robb, Jon, and Theon had habits of visiting some, getting into the gods only know what along the way. Perhaps that was why he knew anything about a man’s attraction to someone. Not that she ever expected her eldest brother to be the first to mention it to her.

There were certain things you just didn’t talk to your older brother about, and this was one of things.

At the very least if she needed to be advised on such matters, she would’ve preferred her sister. If only they’d shared any semblance of closeness. Her father was constantly lecturing them about how little they got along.

Robb and Jon were as close as they could be, the same could be said for Bran and Rickon, but her and Sansa?

Practically strangers to one another.

_“You may be as different as the sun and the moon but the same blood flows through both your hearts.”_

It was her father’s favorite thing to chastise them with.

She hoped a day came where he wouldn’t have to keep reminding them of it.

Turning towards Jon once more, she raised her head high.

“I’m off to get ready, I suggest you do the same.” She teased, a smirk to her face now.

Jon sighed heavily, throwing the sparring sword back into the target figure.

“You’ve guaranteed a mess this evening, Arya.” He answered her somberly.

Arya began treading towards the nearest doors while still facing him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” She said seriously, smiling warmly at him.

A part of her felt guilty for the position she put him in, but his words about the prince were looming in her mind. Leaving her concerned with one thing as she walked to her room to prepare for the feast.

What if Jon was right?


	3. An Eventful Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The feast at Winterfell! Information is shared, plans are made, and a reveal!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone!! Thank you so much to everyone who's read, commented, and given kudos. It means the wooooorld that you guys are enjoying the fic and I'm so excited to start off 2020 with more of it! I was messing around with chapter four a bit like a moron, changed some things, and so I took an extra week because I wanted that chapter almost perfect before I uploaded this one. I don't plan on making ya'll wait long for the next chapter, I think I can get it out by Monday, but Tuesday the latest! You'll see why! This chapter doesn't have as much Gendrya in it as I would've liked, but next chapter has it in spaaaaaades.
> 
> As of currently Cersei is pretty alright in character, I plan to keep her that way for quite some time. It was highly advised that Cersei would love Gendry very sincerely and in a grand way, so she isn't an antagonist here. I might have her come off as one much later on for a chapter or two, but ultimately, I think we'll keep her sane, if you will. As of currently I don't have her affair with Jamie as a massive plot point, I have it in the outline as some characters finding out, but not all. What do you guys think?

“Ned, what you’re telling me is—”

“Rather troubling, I know.” Ned interrupted his wife, her face scrunched out of stress from the moment he told her of King Robert’s intentions. He knew he couldn’t let them make their way to the feast without informing her.

“Our daughter as Queen?” She whispered to herself in disbelief. “Lysa wrote to me that they were nearing negotiations in King’s Landing to match Robert’s eldest with Margaery Tyrell.”

Ned shook his head, hating how much easier that match would’ve made things.

“That might have been the case before Jon Arryn passed, but Robert was adamant when I spoke to him.” He informed her, hesitating before telling her the rest.

The part that would surprise her.

“There’s something else, Cat.” He treaded carefully. “Prince Gendry has requested that he…have a choice. And Robert has granted it to him.”

Catelyn’s eyes narrowed in confusion, widening only a moment later once she realized what that meant.

“Ned—“

“I _know_.” He breathed, his shoulders slumping at having to say it out loud.

He loved all his children deeply and equally.

Jon too, as though he were his own, even if it was only a ruse designed to protect his sister’s memory and wishes.

But Arya, she was special.

Not only to him, but in the world.

She reminded him so potently of his sister, Lyanna.

A wild spirit that needed the room to flourish.

His sister had been denied that room, her life cut so short.

He would do everything in his power to ensure his spirited daughter did not share his late sister’s fate.

King Robert may have promised his son a choice, but he intends to make Arya the very same promise.

Even if the price is the King’s friendship.

* * *

The sweat coating her palms was becoming more uncomfortable by the second.

She sat alone, across from Sansa, Jeyne and the Princess Myrcella, their giggles filling the air from the moment they’d been introduced.

The Princess, however unfortunate the company she now kept, was someone who surprised her. The first thing Princess Myrcella had done was compliment her on the sword she’d seen her wearing earlier.

Whether or not the blonde meant it, Arya believed her.

Any pleasantries they’d been exchanging had been short-lived, for it wasn’t long before Sansa came waltzing around to be the more compatible friend towards her.

The feast had only just begun but Arya could swear she’d been enduring it for ages.

She took a deep breath, knowing it was only the worry she felt over Jon’s impending presence getting the best of her.

Looking down towards the far end of the table, her stomach lurched at the sight of Prince Gendry dining with her brothers. Their laughter reverberating throughout the hall. It was a nice distraction from the King’s loud antics in the center of Winterfell’s great hall.

Her mother sat with the Queen at the high table right behind her.

Their proximity was as agonizing as the feast itself.

Arya had yet to be presented to her, but her curiosity of Queen Cersei’s character was beginning to weigh on her.

Gendry seemed alright by most standards she was expecting, as did Myrcella. She couldn’t speak for the other two Prince’s but so far the royal family were exceeding her expectations. She wondered whether that had more to do with the King’s upbringing, or the Queen’s.

Looking at the King now, drinking and fondling the servers, she found it hard to imagine he had anything to do with a single one of his children.

“Feasts are usually supposed to be entertaining events.” Gendry spoke, the ale present but not overwhelming on his breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as bored as you at one of these.”

Arya smirked, the air somehow feeling…lighter with him around.

“If it isn’t already obvious, entertaining guests during a feast have never really been amongst my strengths.” She told him truthfully. “Besides, it’s not often we have them here. Like everywhere else, I guess I just feel a little out of place.” She continued, surprised she’d chosen to share something so transparent with him.

Gendry’s eyes softened at her and she swore there was something hypnotic about it.

He opened his mouth to say something but immediately decided against it, coughing into his arm instead.

Arya’s gaze narrowed, wondering just what he’d been about to blurt out.

“You haven’t been missing much,” he grumbled, clearly referring to feasts. “We have them far too often in King’s Landing, they’re one of my father’s favorite ways of passing time.”

“Sounds dreadful,” she answered promptly. “Just makes me more grateful than ever that I live here and not in the capital.” She joked, almost instantly regretting it once she saw the look on his face.

It was a look she couldn’t understand.

As far as she was concerned, it’s no insult to say she found comfort in her own home.

But the weariness in his eyes said something else entirely.

Perhaps Septa Mordane was right, she never knew the right thing to say.

Gendry’s lightheartedness returned moments later, his nerves seeming to have passed.

“I would say I envy you in those regards, Arya.” He told her, his name rolling off his tongue, before he took a large gulp of ale.

She heard a soft gasp to her right, turning her head she noticed her sister. Her eyes angry, a fork clenched in her hand.

Arya’s gaze fluttered nervously around the hall, looking for anything to get Sansa’s attention off of her, stopping when she noticed Jon tip-toeing into the great hall, his head down.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, happy he was amongst the rest of her family, where he ought to always be. Yet weary of what could come from defying her mother to this magnitude.

She breathed shakily.

She noticed Sansa look towards their mother and Jeyne in shock.

“Jon!” She greeted excitedly, gesturing for him to sit near her, darting a gaze towards Robb so he’d join them.

Her elder brother hauled Theon over by his leathers down the bench, placing him next to Jon, then sitting next to Theon.

The three of them grimaced at the look of pure defiance on her face whilst they sat across from her.

She gave her mother two minutes before she came down from the high table to kick her brother out.

But even that was too high an expectation for her mother.

Because it only took her one.

“Pardon the interruption, my prince,” she greeted to Gendry. Her voice was strained, as though she realized that the atmosphere she’d be diminishing would not be one that would make her endearing to anyone but herself. “Jon, I do believe you had duties to attend to this evening. What a unique surprise to see you here tonight, so glad you were able to squeeze it in.” She bit out, insinuating as best she could what she meant without causing a scene in the presence of a member of the royal family.

Jon’s mouth gaped open, scrambling to find an excuse to provide.

Gendry cleared his throat, turning out of the bench, his body now facing hers, so he could angle his head to look at her mother.

His chest was pressed up against her shoulder, making the wood of the table the most remarkable thing she found to look at all evening. Her emotions had a habit of getting the best of her, but she hoped to the gods that her cheeks didn’t look as hot as they felt.

“You must forgive me, Lady Stark, I’m afraid that’s all my doing.” He admitted proudly, setting his cup down on the table. His forearm dangled off the edge, the tips of his fingertips just gracing her thigh. “Lady Sansa concluded our tour of Winterfell in the courtyard, I noticed him tidying up and basically ran him down to introduce myself. I invited him tonight as my personal guest, I do hope I haven’t overstepped under your gracious welcoming of my family into your home.”

Arya raised her hand to stifle the giggle that was mere moments away from escaping her.

It wasn’t long before she turned in her seat too, her knee brushing Gendry’s. The gloating look she was prepared to give her mother was gone before she’d even made it, her breath catching when Gendry dropped his hand to gently squeeze her knee.

His hand was gone before she could turn to look at him.

Her mother’s face was hard, a thousand expressions displayed in her eyes.

The hands she had clasped gently at her waist were now clenched so tight, her knuckles were red.

“I see!” She understood, managing to get her voice to sound more pleased than she actually was. “ You are our guest, Prince Gendry, and I have no doubts in the company you keep. I must thank you for extending such an honor to a member of my household, I cannot begin to express my gratitude.” She acted brilliantly.

Arya felt it appropriate to cover her smirk with her wine goblet.

“You and I both.” She said ultimately, a warmth flooding her chest at how happy this turn of events has made her.

Gendry caught her gaze, his cheeks reddening.

Her mother cleared her throat, snapping them out of their trance.

“I should get back to your mother.” She told him, smiling warmly, her hands still clenched.

“Of course,” Gendry nodded. “My family is so fortunate in the host you’ve been to us, Lady Stark.”

And just like that, her mother waltzed away, more bashful than she could ever recall seeing her.

Arya whirled her head towards the dark-haired prince, feeling more at ease than she’s ever felt at such a gathering.

Impulsively she reached out and grabbed his forearm, the air growing tense once she’d done so. Her brothers laughter died in their throats, taking in the scene before them.

She let her nerves win, instantly releasing her hold on him, but keeping the enthusiasm for what he’d done.

“I don’t know how to thank you for that.” She told him gently, a genuine yearning to express how much she appreciated him being so endearing towards Jon.

“I think I know a way.” Theon suggested, eyebrows raised.

Arya felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her.

Robb elbowed his closest friend in the chest, with a low growl.

“Watch it.” He tensely replied, looking wearily towards Gendry, who conveniently chose that particular moment to empty his glass.

“The godswood.” Gendry told her promptly, ignoring her brothers entirely.

Arya’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

Gendry laughed heartily, his amusement visible even in his eyes.

“I’ve heard many tales of the beauty that is the godswood of Winterfell, I’d like to see it.” He revealed to her. “And I can think of no better person to show it to me than you.”

Her breath hitched, finding it hard to look at him for longer than a few moments before needing to divert her eyes to some random corner.

She could feel Robb, Jon, and Theon staring holes into their heads but neither one of them finding the energy to pay them any mind.

“Beside’s, I do believe I’m still owed payment.” He teased, whisking any nervousness she might have been feeling away.

“And showing you my kingdom’s most sacred location is what you believe to be proper payment?” She wondered amusedly. “It seems you think rather highly of your work, don’t you?” She fired back.

Gendry laughed, leaning back at her quips.

“Well if I’m not mistaken, the words ‘perfect’ were uttered. Unless I heard you wrong?” He countered.

Arya sighed, relinquishing towards his reason.

“You didn’t.” She relented. “I suppose we have a deal.” She ultimately agreed, ignoring the excitement she felt at getting to show him her favorite place in the entire north.

“A trip well made then, you honor me with your guidance.”

Arya giggled at that, elated when he joined her.

Just as she turned towards her brothers to tell them to wipe those ridiculous, gobsmacked looks on their faces, she caught movement to her right.

Septa Mordane was whispering in Sansa’s ear, her eyes set on the high table.

Sansa nodded promptly, swiftly maneuvering out of the table and treading lightly.

Her sister took a deep breath before she stopped before the Queen.

_Oh_.

Sansa curtsied perfectly, their mother’s face beaming.

She turned back towards her Septa, hating with everything inside her how pleased she looked with herself.

Everything from just a few moments ago was forgotten, including the animated Prince who sat by her side, a mischievous glint to his eyes that she missed entirely.

Arya understood the significance loud and clear.

* * *

Cersei watched Catelyn Stark return to her seat beside her with a rigid expression on her face.

The discontent was obvious.

“I feel I must apologize for my son’s behavior.” She spoke to her eloquently, head held high as she was raised to do no matter what. “Gendry has the same tolerance for his father’s bastards. No amount of dissuasion on my part has ever worked, I’m afraid.” She revealed to her.

It was uncharacteristic for her.

To reveal such an imperfection in her family.

If her father could hear her now, she thought.

Catelyn’s face relaxed at her words.

“The same goes for all my children, especially Arya,” she grumbled. “Sansa would be the only one who listens in those regards.”

She noted a special affection in her voice towards her eldest daughter. But it was the Stark’s youngest daughter who held much of her attention that evening.

Gendry had chosen to sit with Arya Stark for most of the evening thus far, she’d have to speak to him about it. Given how accepting they both seem to find their father’s bastards, they already get on better than she and Robert ever have.

Not that those are qualities she would’ve chosen for her son to have in common with someone.

She knew joy in her eldest boy when she saw it, and right now, sitting with the Stark girl, she could see it clear as day.

Cersei glanced towards Catelyn quickly, the red head’s heated gaze still on her husband’s bastard. She’d been holding her tongue in commenting just how disbelieving she found it to be that Ned Stark even had a bastard to begin with. It was on the tip of her tongue to mention it.

The type of man it took to father a bastard, she knew all too well.

Her eyes zeroed in on Robert whoring in the middle of Winterfell’s great hall. The insult he was causing to her was without a doubt one of the last things on his mind as he brutally shoved his face into the tits of a server.

She could feel Catelyn look at her wearily.

If there was anything she hated it was to be pitied. But she hated Robert more for always forcing her to endure it with his ways.

She caught Jamie’s gaze from across the hall, heated and dangerous.

“Is this your first time in the North, your grace?” Catelyn eventually asked her, changing the subject, and she was grateful for it.

Cersei forced a smile out, find her hands more interesting to look at.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Lovely country.”

Gendry and Arya’s laughter diverted their attention, the genuine smiles on their faces almost contagious.

It would seem Robert will get his wish, she realized.

“I hear we might share a grandchild some day.” She mentioned softly, smiling fondly at the pair before them.

A Stark girl wouldn’t have been her ideal choice for a match with her eldest.

Not after the humiliation she felt early on in her reign at hearing Lyanna Stark’s name come out of her husband’s mouth when he emptied himself inside of her on their wedding night.

No, she thought grimly. If it were up to her she’d have never set sights on this family.

But the Tyrell’s were an option she hated even more.

Margaery Tyrell was a conniving little harlot, and she’d be damned if that girl laid a single finger on her son. Beside’s, there was no love lost between Gendry and Margaery, thank the gods.

She saw the older woman’s hands freeze in her lap at her insinuation, following her gaze to the pair below them.

“I hear the same.” She answered after a long pause.

Before she could edge more out of Catelyn Stark on a union between their children, a wave of red hair stepped before her and curtised 

Looking up at the tall fair-skinned girl she tried not to purse her lips at the sight.

“Hello, little dove.” She greeted warmly, taking in just how she beamed, her mother too.

This must be the child she dotes on, she realized. Not that she was in any position to judge, the gods know she’s guilty of the same.

“You’re tall,” she noted. “And how old are you?”

“Ten and nine, your grace.”

The same age as Gendry.

Tradition would have _her_ be the match for her boy, but looking at things now, she wasn’t sure it would do.

“And your dress, did you make it?” She diverted, hoping to have successfully squandered any idle looks that might have been easy to read.

Sansa nodded happily, her cheeks positively full from such a grand smile.

“Such a talent, you must make something for me.” She told her, the satisfaction from the auburn Stark women blatant. Nodding at the curtsy she was presented with, she didn’t miss the heated stare the eldest Stark girl tossed at her younger sister, whom now sat more solemnly beside her son.

He was speaking to her in hushed whispers.

Cersei realized then that whatever betrothal comes of Robert’s plans, it would not be a peaceful one.

* * *

This evening was not going the way he thought it would.

Gendry pondered the trajectory of the evening thus far and found he was equal parts content and worried.

Any spare moment to himself he’d found that evening, his thoughts would lead him right back to Arya’s earlier words.

_“Just makes me more grateful than ever that I live here and not in the capital.”_

Those words had settled like a rock in his stomach.

He’d have given up hope for a potential union between them right then and there, but one look at her, and he’d find the courage all over again.

Arya was beautiful, riveting, and above all—a _wonderful_ person.

The rigorous love she had for her brother in a world that would never love him in return was as captivating as everything else about her was.

She was fierce and passionate when she wanted to be, but beneath the surface lay a troubling sadness. Looking at her now, the previously fiery presence beside him looked as though it had been dimmed.

It wasn’t hard to imagine why.

He noticed the Stark girls’ Septa urge Sansa to introduce herself to his mother.

If the Starks were aware of an imminent union between their houses, it became rather clear to him who they’ve chosen.

Arya’s words from earlier presented him with one daunting realization.

His father might have spoken to Lord and Lady Stark, but that information has yet to trickle down to her. Her sure certainty at King’s Landing being nothing but the capital thousands of miles away, and of little relevance to her, had him sure she didn’t even know that his father had offered Hand of the King to Ned Stark.

Which meant that she most certainly didn’t know of his father’s wish to join their houses.

He felt every moment he spent sitting next to her at this feast, was doing more harm than good. So long as he knew of the discussion between their families and she didn’t—anything he did now was deceitful.

But he’d look at her face and could no longer find the strength to put her aside.

It’s what made the current thought in his head particularly stupid.

As though that’s ever stopped him.

Gendry took a deep, shaky breath. He slipped out of his seat, hunching over to whisper into Arya’s ear.

“Might I borrow you for a moment?” He told her, his breath suspended as he awaited her answer.

Her face furrowed in confusion.

But she swung her body around to face him, eyes darting down at his open hand.

He could tell she was genuinely thinking about it, whether or not to take it.

Luckily for him she did.

Arya’s hand in his was small and smooth, not being able to resist squeezing it comfortingly as he’d done with her knee earlier.

“_What are you doing?_” She hissed as he glided them straight towards the high table that seated both of their mothers. “Gendry—“ she yelped. The words died in her throat once they stood before the Queen.

His mother and Lady Stark had been conversing rather timidly prior to this interruption.

No doubt his mother had already apologized for what he’d done by inviting Jon, she’s rather used to his refusal to follow her advice in casting aside his half-siblings.

“Mother,” he greeted her, feeling some ease when she smiled _genuinely_ at him with Arya Stark on his arm. “There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”

His mother turned her amused gaze towards Arya, not at all as intimidating as she prides herself on being.

No, he thought, she likes to save that for when she’s in her own home.

“You must be Arya,” she acknowledged.

He squeezed her hand again, gentler this time.

“Yes, your grace.”

“Such sharp features, we don’t have anyone like you in the capital.” She noted in approval. “My daughter tells me you wield a sword.”

Arya laughed softly at that, causing a rush of affection to soar through him at the sight.

“Just a small one, it was a gift from my brother.”

“Gendry’s rather fond of making weapons himself, so talented. He’s made one for each of his siblings. I’m sure he’s got several ideas by now of something to make for you.”

It was Gendry’s turn to blush now, his ears suddenly feeling as hot as they would be in a forge.

As usual, his mother was right.

He _did_ have a many number of weaponry ideas for Arya, but he’d been hoping to corner Jon into finding out when her nameday was.

“There goes your nameday gift idea.” He joked. It wasn’t till he heard Catelyn’s forced laugh that he really remembered her presence. The intimidating Lady Stark had yet to say a word.

“Your mother has arranged for your sister to have tea with myself and the Princess tomorrow, I think I can speak for her and certainly myself, when I say that we’d love it if you’d attend too.” She offered, mischievously sparing him a glance as she did so.

Arya’s eyes sparkled just slightly, she was undoubtedly not surprised her mother had made such arrangements

“I’d be honored to, your grace. And I thank you for the inclusion.” She replied, intentionally tossing words at her mother. Arya’s grip in his hand tightened as she dipped into a curtsy once again.

Gendry bowed his head, “Mother, Lady Stark.”

Waltzing Arya back to the seats they’d occupied, he swallowed nervously at the hard stares of her brothers, and the hurt expression in Sansa.

It was only a mere moment before Theon cackled recklessly.

“Oh, we’ve got to keep you around. Tell me, did you wake up today with a goal to make Lady Stark’s head explode? Sansa’s not far behind, just look at her, her face is the color of her hair. And Jeyne looks about ready to march over here and claw your eyes out, Arya.”

Arya scoffed at that.

“I’d love to see her try.”

It was then that he seemed to notice that he still had her hand clasped in his beneath the table, although neither made any movement to let go.

Before Gendry could muster up a response to Theon’s words, a loud clang redirected their attention.

He scoured the great hall looking for the source, groaning out loud when he realized it was his father. His father, who was unmistakably drunk beyond words.

“I know no one wants to hear from my sorry self when you’re all a few cups away from whatever woman you’ve decided to bury yourselves in tonight,” he started, mortifying Gendry and his siblings.

He could see Myrcella hanging her head in disappointment from where she sat beside Sansa, who looked about as scandalized as he imagined was possible.

Not that his father was going to notice, what with the cheers of the Northmen and his own bannermen.

“Now that we’re all joined here together, Baratheon and Stark, what better way to make good on my intentions from before I caved in the chest of that pitiful waste of breath, Rhaegar Targaryen, eh?” He hollered, his words more slurred than anything.

Gendry caught Lord Stark’s frantic gaze from the center of the room, his head now hanging low, seemingly resigned to whatever his father would say next.

“It’s time I honor my intentions to join House Baratheon and House Stark.”

His heart sank.

_No_. Not like this.

“And what better way to do that than with my eldest boy, my heir, a Baratheon through and through that one—Prince Gendry.”

He closed his eyes in defeat.

Arya’s hand was squeezing his so tight now, he’s certain she’s poised to leave a mark.

“Ned here, my old friend, has two beautiful daughters, to Gendry I leave the decision of which she-wolf he’ll allow to sink claws into him. To the long over-due union between our houses!!” His father roared, tossing back a full glass of wine, his hands gripping the first woman’s arse he could find.

Gendry wasn’t one for wine, not after the way his father drinks it. But he wouldn’t object to a cup right about now.

Or five.

He turned ever so slightly to look around the table. Robb, Jon, and Theon found their cups more enticing, a lingering anger hidden behind their gazes. Sansa was trembling where she sat, her sentiments undeniable.

But it was Arya who he not only feared most, but was most surprised by.

The color had drained from her face, a glassy sheen to her eyes.

He stared at her for what felt like hours, his gaze pleading for her to look at him.

But the only response he received was her finally letting go of his hand


	4. An Overdue Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MANY THINGS ARE HAPPENING

Gendry paced the floor of his mother’s rooms for the hundredth time in the past hour.

He’d been an ill-composed sight from the moment he woke up that morning. Not that he’d slept much to begin with, but what he did accomplish was insufficient and taking a toll on him.

“I don’t understand why he would do it like this.” He spat out, the rage he felt not at all having diminished since last night’s feast.

His mother sighed heavily, and he didn’t need to turn around to know her expression was one of little sympathy.

“There’s nothing to understand, Gendry.” She spoke coldly. “Your father was drunk, as he usually is, and every person in Westeros knows there’s no controlling his mouth when he’s in such a state. We know that better than anyone.”

Her words did absolutely nothing to simmer his anger, although he had a feeling it wasn’t her intention to begin with.

Letting out a large whoosh of air, he turned to face her.

“That doesn’t make it alright though, does it?” He continued to argue. “Arya is likely never to speak to me again.” He grumbled, as it was his true gripe with the entire situation.

Her face once she’d let go of his hand, was one he never wished to see again.

“So you’ve made your decision then?” His mother inquired slyly, leisurely taking a sip of her drink.

Gendry scoffed, his hands running through his hair, undoubtedly making a mess of it.

“I’d hardly say so.” He told her honestly. “I barely know her, but I’d like to get to. And thanks to father’s _touching_ speech, I doubt I’ll get the chance to.”

“Arya Stark is a lady of a great house, she will do her duty. Especially if that duty is the honor of marrying you.” His mother said simply, leaving him in a stupor.

“It’s a wonder,” he spoke carefully. “How much you and father detest each other, yet are so like-minded in thought.”

This visibly shocked his mother.

“Gendry—“

“Your marriage is an unhappy one.” He spat out. “You say all of Westeros knows how much of a drunk my father is, but all of Westeros knows the truth of your union too.”

“The purpose of our marriage isn’t so that they—“

“Isn’t so that they care.” He finished for her. “I got rather similar words from him too.”

She ignored him.

“Marriages like ours, always exist to serve a purpose, don’t ever forget that. Your father might have been the face that won the war against the Targaryen’s, but it was _my_ father who funded that war.” She said, rising to stand beside him. “In return, Robert would marry me. So while our marriage isn’t a joyous one, it does what it was meant to—provide stability. And it’s that very stability that is the reason you can even possibly marry Arya Stark. You’d be wise to give thanks to the seven gods that we are not at war, or on the brink of empty coffers, otherwise you’d be marrying whoever we needed you to marry, whoever would serve our interests best.” She cruelly informed him.

Gendry felt the shame creep up at her words.

His mother wasn’t wrong. There was no advantageous thing to gain from marrying him to Ned Stark’s daughter. It was being considered solely because it pleased his father to do so, to live out a fantasy that has long since been buried in the ground.

But that didn’t change what he felt.

“You don’t understand.” He whispered.

His mother wrapped her gentle hands around his arm.

“Then explain it to me,” she tried. “Arya’s lovely, sweetheart, but is she really worth all this trouble?”

He felt the anger rise in him once more.

“Is this the sort of behavior I can expect you to welcome her with when you invited her for tea?” He raged. “Because I won’t have it, mother. I will not have you patronize her, nor be as endearing as you were last night only to diminish her shortly after. She deals with that enough as it is.” He whispered at the end.

“I was doing no such thing.” She affirmed. “She reminds me much of myself, truth be told. I’m sure your grandfather would say the same. But he always had plans for me, I was raised to be Queen, he wasn’t going to settle for anything less. It’s why I was almost betrothed to Rhaegar Targaryen, and why I wound up married to your father. Arya is the result of a father who allowed her to be who she was, a luxury I did not have.”

“I doubt grandfather would be so kind to anyone that he isn’t related to, or who doesn’t look enough like his kin.” He grumbled.

“Gendry, your grandfather cares for you a great deal.”

He scoffed at that.

“I look too much like father, and he punishes me for it. I’m destined to become exactly the same in grandfather’s eyes, don’t deny it.” His mother looked away. “I thought the same of you once, you know?” He revealed to her sadly. “That every time you look at me, you only see him. I see how you look at Edric and Maya.”

His mother’s eyes softened, her hand reaching up to cup his jaw.

“You’re right, I do see your father when I look upon you. What I see, is the almost mirrored image of a man who yes, despite his many grievances towards me, gave me you, my darling boy.”

Gendry inhaled sharply, the emotions surging through him at his mother’s words catching him off guard.

“You may look like him, but I know the boy I raised, and I’m so very proud of who you’ve become. You will be the King he didn’t know how to be, and despite what I’ve said, I want that to be with someone you love by your side.”

He leapt forward, hugging her tightly, the emotions becoming too much.

“Thank you, mother.”

* * *

“But this isn’t fair!” Sansa screeched, her hands wild in movement from her seat across their parents.

Arya felt the anger pool inside her.

Her father sighed heavily, his hand resting at the bridge of his nose.

“Sansa, love, what you need to understand—“

“There’s nothing to understand,” she interrupted. “When the King made such a mad request you should have said something, father! He’s your closest friend, surely he’d listen to you, you can still fix this.”

Her head snapped towards her eldest sister, who had yet to hinder her shouting that day.

“Hush now,” her mother scolded softly. “You don’t demand such things of the King, Sansa.”

“But she’s ruining _everything_, and you’re just going to let her?”

That’d been enough.

“Figures, you’d find some way to blame this on me.”

“Oh, will you shut _up_, Arya!” She yelled, to her credit, being only slightly surprised when she rose to face her.

“Don’t sit there and act as though some grand injustice has been committed against you. I didn’t ask for this and you know it.” She argued back.

“Right, just like you didn’t ask the prince to dine with you at the feast, or for him to present you to the Queen.” Her sister’s fire was becoming more untamed and rampant by the second.

She growled under her breath.

“You and Jeyne might take issue with my company, but he doesn’t.” She told her truly.

“Spare me, Arya, what would he know about your company?”

“More than he would about yours.” She fired right back.

“That’s enough!” Their father shouted, his face strained and filled with weary. “I did agree to Robert’s wish that Prince Gendry choose, but—“

“Who does he think he is?” Arya blurted out, her anger at Gendry resurfacing.

Truth be told it hadn’t dimmed since last night.

She’d gone to bed angry, and woken up even angrier.

“He’s the crown prince and he’s _perfect_.” Sansa continued, that comment getting a laugh out of her.

“You don’t know anything about him,” she grumbled in return.

“But it would appear that you do, Arya.” Her mother acknowledged her at last.

Her eyes snapped towards her mother, tall, regal, and proud.

“Speak freely, mother.” She edged, her defiance prevalent as always.

“Your…companionship with Prince Gendry did not go unnoticed by the Queen, as I’m sure you know. Your display by his side last night is not to be repeated.”

She scoffed imminently, one of her fists curled up to pound the arm of the chair gently, to keep her from losing her reserve.

“I can’t tell what you’re more upset about, that it was me having a mere conversation with him instead of Sansa, or that Gendry’s tolerance of Jon has displeased you so he isn’t a fitting match for your preferred child anyway.” She told her, the air growing cold the moment the words left her mouth.

Her mother’s mouth gaped open.

But it was her father who spoke next.

“_Arya_,” he reprimanded, the disappointment etched visibly on his face. “I will speak with you alone.”

“Ned—“

“Father—“

“I will speak to Arya alone,” he reiterated, leaving no room whatsoever for debate.

“We will have words about what you just said later, I’ll lay out your dress for this afternoon in your rooms.” Her mother told her, reaching for Sansa who was near tears, as their way out of her father’s solar. “Let’s get you ready for tea, dear.” She could hear her say as they made their way down the hall.

Her father’s gaze on hers was almost immediately insufferable.

“I figured you’d be upset but there’s something else edging your anger.” He realized easily. “I saw you at the feast with Prince Gendry as well, you didn’t seem to be having an unsatisfactory time.”

She felt her eyes widen in surprise.

Had her time at the feast been so observed?

“Whether or not I had a good time at the feast is irrelevant.” She snarked, pushing down the smile she felt rise to the surface when her father laughed at that.

“Very well,” he agreed. “I will put that matter to rest for just a moment, whilst I tell you that I had already decided to give you a choice too, Arya.”

She blinked up at him in shock.

“But the King—“

“Does not mean more to me than my own daughter.”

She could feel her resolve slipping, ultimately deciding to let her emotions course through her.

“It isn’t fair,” she echoed her sister’s earlier claim, no matter how childish she thought it sounded. “Is this all Sansa and I are good for, to be bartered off to whoever requests us? You told me once that I would marry a King, rule his castle, raise his children, do you remember what I told you?”

The strength in her father’s face weakened, his composure crumpling into his chair.

“I believe you very simply told me ‘no’, because it ‘wasn’t you’,” he seemed to remember fondly.

“A part of me still feels the same about it.”

“Just a part?” He asked her, eyebrow raised in interest.

“The part that is grateful her father didn’t ship her off when she was ten and three to the first man that asked, like most Lord’s do.”

“I’ve held off for as long as I could, love.” He told her affectionately, tugging at the strings of her heart.

“I know,” she gasped out, letting the tears fall. “And I’ll never be able to thank you properly for it.”

“Your happiness is thanks enough. I meant what I said, you get a choice here, I swear it.”

She nodded eagerly.

“I just need a day or so,” she said hesitantly, wondering if a day would be enough time to decide. She wasn’t sure it’d even be enough to give Gendry a piece of her mind.

Her father was surprised by this.

“I wasn’t aware you’re conflicted enough to need time to decide.” He pondered out loud. “You told your sister that she didn’t know anything about Prince Gendry, I wonder, if that’s because you do.”

Her cheeks heated up for the first time since the feast.

“It’s a long story,” she confessed. “I’ll tell it to you,” she said a moment later, gripping the skirt of her dress to stand. “Depending on what I decide.”

Arya made a run for it after that, practically sprinting out of her father’s solar.

She didn’t make it far without some sort of confrontation.

She’d run head first into multiple arms.

Her brothers.

“The two of you are just about the last thing I need.” She said instantly, trying to hurry away from Robb and Jon’s curious eyes.

“Dear sister, you’re just who we were looking for.” Robb joked, hauling her towards them by her arm.

As quick as she was, she was outnumbered.

“If Sansa’s looks could kill, we’d both be cold in the ground.” Jon said, his amusement unmistakable.

“As could mother’s.” Robb said. “This must have her livid, she’s yet to yell at Jon here for his surprise appearance at the feast.”

“Neither Sansa nor mother’s cold gazes should be a surprise to anyone that lives within these walls. So if you sought me out to tell me the sky is blue as well, I think we’re done here.”

“My, my, aren’t we tense today?” Robb prodded further. “We’ve just come from sparring with the crown prince in the courtyard, his focus was…uncentered. Not that Ser Rodrik would dare tell him as much. I wonder if that has anything to do with the way you sprinted out of the great hall last night.”

Her arm went limp in his grasp.

“Is that why you’re all smiles, then? Because you two bested a man who could barely plant his feet properly?” She tried to divert.

“Despite how unfocused he was, Prince Gendry gave us quite the sweat. Have you seen him wield his warhammer yet?”

“Now Robb, we both know Arya’s time with the Prince has been spent doing other things.” Jon teased, chuckling at what she knew was her flushed cheeks.

She yanked her arm of Robb’s hand, breathing heavily.

“If you’re both quite finished, I have somewhere I need to be.”

“When you happen to see Prince Gendry, tell him for us that we think he’s bloody mad, won’t you?” Robb called out as she stomped towards her room, their laughter fading into the background.

Arya didn’t bother asking them to elaborate.

She had to get ready for tea with the Queen.

* * *

Gendry had spent the majority of the day so far looking for Arya.

Yet all that had come of those efforts was a sparring session where he was bested by both Robb _and_ Jon.

An accidental stumbling upon Sansa and her ladies, leaving him with no choice but to indulge her in a walk.

And an absolutely ludicrous idea.

He could still feel the heat in his ears from Robb and Jon’s conjoined fit of laughter when he’d told them. 

It didn’t take a Maester from the Citadel to decipher that Arya was most certainly obscuring herself from his presence. Given how many times she’d crept up on him in this short time he’s known her, he’s rather certain that she won’t be found unless she wants to be.

Which left him with only one option.

He knew where Arya Stark would be at least once today.

A knock at the door diverted his thoughts.

And while he knew better than to expect a certain brunette to be waiting on the other side, a part of him couldn’t help it.

Hauling the door open, he hoped he’d masked his disappointment at who it was well enough.

“Maester Luwin,” he greeted, remembering the man he met upon his arrival.

“My Prince,” he responded in return, bowing courteously. “A raven has arrived for you.” He told him, holding out a scroll.

His head swirled in confusion at who could be sending him a raven _here._

“Thank you, I shall find you when I have a response ready.” He told the man kindly, accepting the paper in his hand.

Maester Luwin bowed once more, slowly making his way down the hall.

Gendry looked down at the note in his hand, recognizing the seal.

_Dearest brother, _

_ I hope this raven finds you well and in good spirits. Now that we have those pesky pleasantries out of the way, it’s my pleasure to tell you how much I wish I could thump you upside the head for not telling me you’re soon to be a married man! Imagine my surprise to return home from Storm’s End to find out that Father is seeking a match for you with one of Lord Stark’s daughters! I met them once a few years ago when I went with Jon Arryn to visit my mother in the Eyrie. If the North is as I remember it, I can’t imagine you’re having any fun. Uncle Renly says he can’t wait to see your future bride, and neither can I. I’ve just got to write to Edric and tell him. Perhaps I’ll convince Uncle Renly to take me back to Storm’s End. I know we’ve only just returned but I must see his face when he learns of the news. Whoever you wind up promised to, I hope you’ll tell her that she has a friend in me. King’s Landing is a lonely place for a girl without friends, I would know. I do hope Father and that frigid mother of yours are giving you some say over the future Queen of Westeros, there’s no one’s judgement I trust more than yours. _

_ With love, _

_ Mya_

Gendry laughed freely at his sister’s antics.

Despite how defeated he felt at his chances of Arya ever speaking to him again, he couldn’t help but think that she and Mya would make great friends.

Should she accompany her father to King’s Landing for his new position, he could at least find solace in that.

He held his eldest sister in the highest regards.

Their relationship as siblings was one he would cherish for al of his days, no matter how much it angered his mother.

She was the voice in his life to counter their father, the reason he’s had the freedom he’s had. It was her persistent voice in their father’s ear that allowed him to apprentice on the street of steel, and why he was allowed into the streets of the capital so often.

Stumbling onto the desk placed comfortably in his rooms, he made use of the ink and parchment.

_Sister, _

_ I was wondering when I would be hearing from you, I was half-expecting a letter to be waiting for me the moment I set foot inside Winterfell’s walls. If you’re this enthralled in the gossip, tell me, how bad is the talk at court? Don’t be delicate about it. I’m afraid both you and Uncle Renly are just going to have to wait in terms of that. Father’s made a mess of things, it is after all his trade. I’ve met the most incredible girl. Her name is Arya, she is one of Lord Stark’s daughter’s, just a year younger than I. I’ve convinced Father to not choose one of Lord Stark’s daughters for me, perhaps I can get her to choose me too. My efforts are not going as well as I’d hoped. You always said I was a mess with my feelings, it would seem that you spoke true. I miss you already, big sister, keep those uptight pricks in line down there in King’s Landing, won’t you? Next time I see you, I hope I can present Arya to you, I think you’d both be great friends. _

_ Don’t get up to too much trouble, _

_ Gendry_

Rolling up the parchment he quickly made his way out of his rooms.

First he was to deliver the message to Maester Luwin so it gets back to his sister, and after that, he had a she-wolf to find.

* * *

“Mother and I are just so pleased to meet with you both!” Myrcella spoke excitedly, nodding in gratitude to the servers as they placed the spread on the table before them.

Always so effervescent, her daughter.

Cersei took in the appearances of the Stark girls before her, pleased at the display from the both of them. Sansa was a more flourished presence, she would do well in the Capital, she thought. The eldest Stark girl has the decorum, the style, and the never far-behind timidness.

Arya on the other hand was refined in other ways. The younger of the two was a striking beauty, who carried herself with a sense of purpose. Whether or not she believed in that purpose was her sore spot. There was an insecurity that lies there, one that would tear her apart in King’s Landing. But she had a spark in her, and if her fondness for weaponry was any indication, the spineless shrill of the capital would find it challenging to snuff that spark out.

It wasn’t often she entertained her own realizations of misjudgment, but perhaps this was an exception. Not that she’d ever admit to it out loud.

Either one of these girls would make a fine Queen, she knew that much.

An observation that was as good as useless because her son already had his heart set on one of them.

And given his out of ordinary, yet admirable desire that this match be a mutual one, he just so happened to have taken a liking to the one that would be the most difficult to seduce into agreement.

“Yes, the Princess and I are just so delighted you both could join us.” She spoke.

Sansa beamed at them both.

“As am I to be in such magnificent company. I could not think of a higher honor,” the auburn haired beauty said, another set of words just on the tip of her tongue. _Except one_, she filled in for her.

“I know my presence was not originally intended, but I thank you both all the same.” Arya spoke after, a weary tonality to her voice that she hadn’t been expecting.

Cersei’s eyes darted towards her daughter who reached for the sugar to add to her tea.

“Oh nonsense!” Her only girl said. “I’ve just been so eager to ask you about your sword! Mother and I had to have you here.”

Arya laughed softly at that, the nerves seemingly rolling off her shoulders.

“Yes, I was rather curious as well.” She spoke up.

It wouldn’t be practical nor easy-going for the future Queen to be seen around court with a weapon, but there were worse appearances to be seen. Her own brother broke his oath to her husband’s predecessor, and if the swine of King’s Landing could co-exist with that, surely they’d stomach this.

“What type of fighting do you practice? Father doesn’t let me practice anything, neither does my mother. Uncle Jamie disagrees, so does Gendry, he’s taught me just a bit. He gave me a dagger for my name-day last year, mother wasn’t happy of course, but he insists I have one, just in case.”

Cersei smiled at that, she often does when hearing of her first-born. Gendry was a good man, she doesn’t know if it was inherently a result of her parenting, or if the gods truly chose him to bless.

“Gendry’s always been rather protective of his siblings.”

“A common trait among the eldest, your grace. Our brother Robb is very much the same.” Sansa spoke again, perhaps for the first time in her life feeling left out of a conversation.

“Technically Gendry isn’t the oldest, Mya is.” Myrcella said freely, blissfully missing the way Sansa’s expression had soured.

“I’m sorry for your constant suffering.” Sansa told her directly next.

_Interesting._

Sansa perhaps didn’t know it yet, but that certainly wouldn’t endear her in the slightest bit with Gendry. It was an easy mishap to make, because with most people in the lives they lead, it wouldn’t be a mishap at all. Few people in Westeros have the tolerance for bastards that her son and Arya seem to have.

Jamie used to joke that Gendry would be better suited in Dorne, their royal family having quite a number of bastards in their family.

Poor girl, she doesn’t stand a chance.

“Yes, well, Robert’s tolerances are my own, of course.” She replied, breaking off a piece of the cake in front of her.

“Gendry seems to really like his other siblings.” Arya said, her fork digging into her pastry just a bit too hard.

“Did he tell you that?” She inquired curiously.

Arya nodded.

“It seems you have that in common then.”

There was no mistaking the way Sansa’s face paled at her comment. 

Just as she was going to delve their conversation into more appropriate topics for tea, there was a gentle knock at the door.

“Yes?” She called out, gently placing her cup onto the table.

One of her handmaidens peaked their head in, a confused look on her face.

“Pardon the interruption, your grace, it’s your son.”

“Which son, in case you’ve forgotten, I have three.” She quipped, her frustration with her handmaidens growing by the hour.

“Yes, forgive me, your grace. It’s Prince Gendry,” she clarified. “He wants an audience with you. I’ve told him you’re entertaining guests but he says he won’t leave until you let him in.”

Although she had a half a mind to deny her son, her curiosity at his insistence was edging out over reason. This would cause some issue, she was sure of it.

“Alright, Priscilla. Let him in.”

Her handmaiden nodded and opened the door wide, flinching when Gendry’s looming presence passed her to enter.

“Gendry, I do hope you have a good reason for this interruption. This is not good form, even for you.” She told him, displeased.

When she’d gotten a good look at him, she was shocked at what she saw.

Beads of sweat had pooled on his forehead, his hands fidgeting with one another, his ears already red from the nerves.

“I do apologize, mother.” He spoke calmly, with an edge to his voice that she couldn’t quite place. “I was hoping to steal just a few moments of Lady Arya’s time.”

This surprised her.

That explained it then.

She recalled the conversation she’d had with him earlier that morning.

_“Arya’s lovely, sweetheart, but is she really worth all this trouble?”_

Yes, she realized then, it would appear that she was.

Looking now to the girl in question, her reaction was not one that she was expecting to see. It was almost forgettable, what with her sister’s fiery rage-filled face alongside her.

No, Lady Arya’s anger was a quieter one.

A dangerous one.

“And whatever this is, couldn’t wait until after we were finished here?” She asked, knowing full-well the answer.

“I’m afraid not. I’ll have her back to you soon, I swear it.” He pleaded, whilst the doe-eyed girl before her wallowed in her anger.

Myrcella’s giggles alongside her made her see the humor in Gendry’s antics.

They’d never seen him look this frantic over a girl before.

“Oh, wait till Mya hears about this.” Myrcella said through her laughter.

Gendry’s cheeks heated up quickly.

“Myrcella,” she warned. Her stunning daughter cutting short her giggles and finding her composure.

“Apologies, mother.” She repented, fighting down another smirk.

“Very well, if it’s alright with the Lady Arya.” She approved.

Gendry immediately held out his hand for Arya to take, the hesitation on her part clear as day.

She stared at his hand like it was infected with grey scale. Her eyes darted around nervously before she gripped her skirts in her hands and stood.

Arya Stark walked right past her son, leaving his hand where it was, all but stomping towards the door, but not before forgetting her manners towards her at least.

“By your leave, your grace.” A soft curtsy to go with it, a softness that turned out to be short-lived as she all but yanked the door off it’s hinges on her way out.

Gendry laughed sheepishly, his shoulders tense as he trailed after her.

The air in the room grew thick, yet she couldn’t help but wonder how much it would pale in comparison to wherever Gendry and Arya would exchange words.

She had half a mind to pray to the gods for her son.

He would surely need the help.

* * *

Arya had no idea where she was headed towards.

Her only plan was to walk.

And fast.

“Arya—“ she heard him call out. The desperation in his voice was tugging at her heart, and damn him if she didn’t hate that he could make her feel that way.

Her day would’ve been so much simpler without this.

Having already argued with Sansa once today, they were now heading straight towards a repeat during dinner later. Her mother had been clear since before the King’s arrival, whilst they hosted the royal family, they were to dine together.

It was all too likely they’d reenact their squabbles from their father’s solar.

She’d lost sight of which direction she’d been heading in before an arm harshly wrapped around her waist, hauling her to a stop.

Arya whirled around in the arms she was no gripped in, thrashing, raising her arms to try and loosen them.

“Arya, will you please just wait.” Gendry pleaded.

“Why should I?” She hissed, leaning back, his face far closer to hers than she was expecting it to be. The look on his face was filled with so many things all at once.

“Let me explain, I beg of you.”

This only furthered her anger.

“I fail to see what good it would do, _your grace_.” She spoke harshly. “It would appear that you are profoundly incapable of disclosing the truth. You didn’t tell me you were the crown prince when we met, and you certainly didn’t tell me I was an _option_ for you to _select_ as a wife once you did. Tell me, Prince Gendry, how many of us are there in contention for your heart, hmm? Half the kingdom, I wager, because that’s all we are, isn’t that right? We’re just prizes for you to collect.”

She watched his face collapse in frustration, his hands clenching in anger, only relinquishing once he’d realized he was still holding onto her waist.

“That’s not true and you know it.” He bit back.

She scoffed, showing her arms out to break his grip. He’d been holding her in place so tightly she stumbled back a few paces.

“Do I?” She yelled in disbelief. “So you _didn’t_ neglect to tell me who you were when we met? Maybe I should go see Jeanor, what do you think he’d tell me, that I hit my head outside his shop and am incorrectly remembering the details, or that I’m right? Perhaps neither! He’ll be obligated to take your side no matter what you say, after all it’s what the prince is accustomed to, surely. Getting what he wants?” She edged on, not having it in her to top.

As the words kept coming out of her mouth with such fervor and certainty, she wasn’t sure she even believed them. The anger she had for him was real, but the judgement on his character were becoming harder to reason with the more she kept doing so.

Gendry looked at her as though he’d suffered a blow, the shock in his face causing an unmistakable welt of guilt inside of her.

“I had hoped that you’d think better of me as a prince. More importantly as a person.” He told her gently, more like defeated, she noted.

“I might have. But all you’ve done since I met you is neglect to tell me the truth. That’s the portrait you’ve painted and _you_ know it.” She echoed his claim.

“You’re right.” He relented. “You’re right, I’ve not been honest with you, I admit it, but—“ he began to say, soon after beginning to look around nervously.

Gendry bolted to the door on their right hand side, pushing it open, eyes pleading with her to follow him in.

One step inside and she’s realized they were in his rooms.

The room she’d confronted him in when she’d realized who he was.

“It’s occurred to me that the hallway containingmy family’s rooms aren’t the best place to hold such a discussion between us.”

Arya blinked back at that.

“We’re having a discussion?” Treading further into the room. “I thought this was an argument.”She quipped lightheartedly. Not quite as bold as she’d been a mere moment ago in such an isolated location. “You were saying…”

Gendry heaved, despite a lightness now to his stance after she’d poked some fun.

“The truth,” he started. “Is that I was afraid.” He admitted, taking her by surprise. “I knew the moment I rode for Winterfell that I was to be matched with you or your sister. It’s why I arrived a week early…to make the most of my final days without being tethered to someone.”

She gasped.

“So you admit it then, it’s as much a burden as it is a benefit?” She prodded, a surging sense of validation coursing through her. “Yet you’d involve me.”

To have been so blindsided by Gendry about something like this, like marriage, a reality she’s spent her entire life hiding from. Only to encounter a man who had similar grievances with it.

Similar, but not the same, she corrected.

No matter how much he might dread marriage, his avoidance of it will never be for the same reasons as her.

He’s the half of the union that has all the freedom his heart desires.

And even more so as the crown prince.

He wouldn’t just have free reign over her, but over of all of Westeros one day.

Gendry’s the future King, his hearts desires would just be the beginning.

“Arya—“

“_No_,” she spat out. “Do not stand there, in your position, and presume to speak to me about how much you dread having to marry. What you and I feel towards it—is not the same. It never will be.” She argued, feeling the onslaught of tears ready to fall. “You don’t know what it’s like to live your life, learning these frivolous skills, because even though they might not matter to you, they’ll matter to _him_. That you could spend years in your own home, knowing that one day, with the right offer, you’d be expected to leave it. Shipped off to _his_ home, because that’s a lady’s place, by _his _side, running _his_ household, raising _his_ heirs. We do not fear the same thing, Gendry.” She said, her chest rising in pants.

His look towards her softened immensely, taking two large strides towards her and grasping her around the waist once more.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He apologized genuinely. “I’m sorry that I made you feel without any escape. I need you to believe me when I say that it was not what I set out to do. I’ve been frantically sifting through my mind how to truly make you understand my intentions.”

“You have intentions?” She asked curiously, eyebrow raising in amusement.

He smirked and oh did something inside her flutter at the sight.

“Honorable ones.” He assured her, she wanted so very much to believe him.

She’d neglect to tell him that she already did.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Gendry chuckled, a light squeeze at her waist to go along.

“I gather you’ve noticed that my parents marriage is hardly one overflowing with love.” He told her, beginning their conversation anew.

She nodded in agreement.

There was no love lost between King Robert and Queen Cersei, that much she was sure of.

As was all of Winterfell.

“My mother and father rarely speak to one another. Every meal we share together is more awkward than the last. Every other word out of his mouth is an insult to her, and she just sits there and takes it.” He expressed in frustration. “I may not share your fear, but I understand it, and I’ve sworn since I was a boy, seeing my father strike my mother across the face for challenging him, that I would never be the same.”

She froze in his embrace.

“But you were right, Arya. Our fears are not the same. Mine is one I’ve seen unfold over the course of my life. Whatever marriage I have, whoever is…cursed to be by my side, I want it to work. I wish to love the person I marry, to earn their love in return. King’s Landing despite it’s overzealous population, is very lonely. And so above all, I desire more than anything that my wife also be my friend.”

“That’s…not what I was expecting you to say.” She told him, stunned.

Arya had entertained just a few men who’d shown interest in courting her, mostly the sons of her father’s bannermen, a couple of knights, but none of them had ever swayed her interest quite like he had.

Only Gendry was different.

Her mind was truly reeling now.

“My mother has been instrumental in holding off any matches for me as of lately, none of the ladies in the capital being one’s she’d allow to get too close. The Tyrell’s almost managed it but I guess you can say that she’s not fond of them. Neither is my father. It’s the first they’ve agreed on in years.” He explained with a laugh. “When my father told us he was to name your father as his hand, and proposed a match between our families, I think both my mother and I knew there was no talking him out of it. He’s rather taken you know, with ‘at last joining our houses’, he was to marry your aunt before the war. It’s a wound that’s never healed, so his entire reign has been spent gorging on wine.”

She let his words sink in. Everyone in the world knows King Robert was supposed to marry her aunt Lyanna, just as they all know that he started a war to get her back.

“So yes, I departed King’s Landing earlier than my father to have a few days to myself. I’d resigned to my duty as the heir, to marry, and provide the illusion of stability that’ll hold long after my father is gone. Whether or not that included my happiness, I knew better than to presume that it could. But then—“

Her blood ran cold then.

“Then what?” She asked, her breath catching, waiting for his answer.

Gendry looked down at her, the stunning blue of his eyes staring straight into her being.

“Then I met you.” He told her softly. If his grip around her wasn’t so firm, she was sure she’d have stumbled at his words alone. “I met you, and for the first time in my _whole_ life, I felt as though that wish of mine was possible. My father arrived the very next day and I’d immediately told him I wanted an opportunity to choose. I understood it was likely he and my mother would’ve made a choice for me between you and your sister, but after having met you, I couldn’t let that happen. I did tell my father I wanted to be able to choose, but what I also told him, was that I wanted that person to choose me too. That’s the whole truth, I swear it to you, Arya Stark, by the old gods and the new.”

“So when you say you were afraid—“

“I’d been afraid that you knew of the possible match and already hated me for it. If our positions were reversed, I know I would.” He admitted to her. “I had no intentions of uprooting your life, nor bend you to my will or anything of the sorts. All I seek is a chance.”

Arya sighed heavily, stepping carefully out of his embrace.

“I believe you.” She confessed, hoping with every ounce of her that it was right to say as such. “Only now I don’t know what to think.” She mumbled to herself, gazing out of the window in his room. “I’d been rather prepared to tear you to shreds, or let Nymeria do it for me.” She joked.

“And now?” She heard him ask, his voice edged with fear.

“And now,” Arya started, turning to face him once more. “Now, I think I need to have a talk with my mother and father.”

Gendry’s face lit up.

“You’ll allow me to court you then?” He treaded carefully, his voice hopeful and elated.

She was stunned at how easily she’d almost said ‘yes’.

“I’ll _consider_ it,” she countered with, not entirely convinced all her fears had been quelled, no matter how good Gendry was doing so far. “If that’s enough for you, princeling.” She quipped, with far less confidence.

She wasn’t easy to deal with, she knew that. 

But she’d never be anyone else than who she was, and she didn’t intend on changing a single part of herself. In a perfect world, but not the world she knew, someone would come along who would love her as she is. As unlikely as it was—

“Any part of yourself you ever give me, will always be enough, Arya.” He told her, surprising her yet again.

Arya could feel the swell of her cheeks, her smile so unusual for her, but not unwelcome.

It was then that the door to his room flew open, jolting them both out of the moment they’d been sharing.

Gendry groaned almost immediately after setting his sight on the two gold-armored men that walked into the room.

Members of the Kingsguard, she realized.

She thought everything about them was truly magnificent. Having been so in a stupor upon the King’s arrival because of Gendry, she hadn’t taken the moment to appreciate their presence.

“Uncle,” Gendry gritted out, his frustration at their interruption notable, addressing the blonde man first. “Ser Arys.” He then said, greeting the other.

“The King requests your presence in the great hall, Lord Stark is to plan a hunt for tomorrow, he wants you there to weigh in.” The guard spoke, with a tonality one wouldn’t expect from a member of the Kingsguard.

_Jaime Lannister_, she recognized.

“Of course he does.” Gendry mumbled, his hands now clenched tightly by his side. “For the best, I suppose, I’ve kept the Lady Arya from my mother for long enough.” He remembered, as did she, realizing just how long their conversation had taken.

“A lot of good it would do me to go back, my tea has no doubt gotten cold by now.” She spoke, trying not to feel a sense of joy when both knights smirked at her words.

“I’m sure my sister’s wrath will warm it back up for you.” Ser Jaime joked, earning a laugh from her in return. She cut the laugh short, having remembered who she was joking with. It was all too likely that the Queen’s twin brother would delegate any misgivings back to her.

“I should get back,” she made to exit, both knights parting to let her pass.

Any more words she’d want to exchange with Gendry would have to wait.

“I hope you’ve not forgotten our plans to visit the godswood, Lady Arya. I’m most looking forward to it.” Gendry called out to her, just as her hand gripped the door so she could hurry back to the Queen’s rooms.

She felt an excitement pool in her stomach, in her anger she’d forgotten they’d made such plans.

“The godswood of Winterfell has been there for over a thousand years, it’s not going anywhere.” She bantered.

Gendry had a mischievous glint to his eyes now.

“No, but _you_ might.” He told her, an _insufferable_ grin on his face. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you’re a rather difficult person to find.”

Arya raised her head high at that, knowing he’d struggled to track her down today.

“That explains it then, why you cornered me in your mothers rooms today.” She realized. “I’d get used to not knowing my whereabouts if I were you.”

Gendry’s eyebrow raised at that.

“Is that a promise to hide from me, Lady Arya?” He challenged.

“It is.” She retorted.

“Then allow me to truly challenge your efforts.” He offered, only furthering her confusion. “Ser Arys,” he acknowledged the other knight. “You’re accustomed to guarding me, but until further notice I’d like you guard the Lady Arya. She is most important to me, guard her as you would me.”

Arya gasped.

“_You wouldn’t dare_.” She hissed.

“As you command.” Ser Arys agreed, quickly moving to form and striding across the room towards where she stood. “My lady,” he bowed, then gestured for her to be on her way.

Gendry had his hand over his mouth, sniffling his laughter, surely.

_Oh_, he would soon regret ever making such an order.

Arya gathered her skirt in her hands, not one to concede defeat she exited, without so much as another word to Gendry, Ser Arys right on her heels.

“You don’t have to do this.” She told the knight, huffing once she realized he was also trying to hold down his laughter. “My direwolf can protect me more than you ever could.”

“He’s my prince, I have sworn an oath to his father, I do as he commands.” He answered promptly, stopping once they reached Queen Cersei’s rooms, a nod in recognition towards the House Lannister guards that stood outside. “I’ll be right outside, my lady.”

She wanted to scream.

Wrenching open the door for the second time that day, she returned to her prior commitment, a wash of shame over having taken so long.

“Lady Arya, I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about us.” The Queen spoke, just as eloquently as she’d left her. “Was that Ser Arys I just saw?” She questioned, concealing her shock quickly. “I do believe he’s meant to be protecting my son.”

Arya winced.

“I—yes.” She admitted, no use in attempting to pretend otherwise. “A bit of a joke on the prince’s part.”

Cersei blinked back at that.

“A joke? I’m not sure I understand the humor in providing you one of the finest protectors of Westeros.” She responded curtly, causing her to wince one more.

As agonizing as Cersei’s questioning was, it was better than the glare she could feel from her sister by her side.

“Neither do I, your grace.” She replied.

Myrcella’s eyes darted nervously between them, her brightness lightening the interaction as Arya imagined she’s so successfully accustomed to doing.

“Arya, you never did tell me what type of sword skill you’re learning!” Myrcella interjected, a ruse to deflect from her mother’s ire, but a question she genuinely meant to ask.

Arya sighed freely, feeling some of the pressure in her chest ease.

“My brother’s have shown me most of what I know, but their sword and mine have several differences so much of their expertise is wasted on me, I’m afraid.”

The Princess listened intently, furthering her questions with each answer she gave.

And while she was grateful beyond relief to her for the rescue, it was clear with both Queen Cersei _and_ Sansa’s stares, that this conversation was far from over.

* * *

“Did I hear wrong or were you arguing with that ridiculous Stark girl?” Gendry heard Joffrey ask, his mood instantly souring after successfully convincing Arya to hear him out.

An effort that he might have damned to hell with his last move of assigning Ser Arys to guard her, but she did prove rather difficult to find, and if he was to sway her enough to allow him to court her, he needed to be able to locate her.

Besides, he _knows_ she could outwit Ser Arys, he so very looked forward to how she does it.

A girl of ten and seven outwitting a sworn guard to the most important person in Westeros, she could manage that and more, of that he was certain.

“Never mind what you heard, and mind your tongue.” He snarked, remembering to smile warmly to each person he passed within Winterfell’s walls.

“Please, that girl is as much a laughing stock here as she will be in the capital. Waltzing around with that poor excuse for a sword, perhaps I ought to find her and show her what happens to those who linger in things they know nothing about.”

Gendry laughed loudly.

“Is that so?” He questioned, halting in his path to face his brother. “By that logic, someone will have to show you first.”

Joffrey’s face turned red instantly, his hand moving to grip the sword at his waist.

A sword that as far as he’s concerned, should be made of wood, given how often it isn’t used.

Gendry looked down at the gesture, which only amused him further.

“What do you propose to do there, Joff, hold on to the hilt of your blade until I walk away?”

“What do you know of my blade?” He whispered harshly, eyes darting to their uncle, watching the exchange with amusement.

“Everything I need to, I made it.” He fired back. “But I know more of the man who _pretends_ to wield it, or should I say the boy.” Insulting Joffrey was never a moment he was proud to succumb to, his brother may be as useless as a squire on a battlefield, with his words however, he had an impeccable talent to get under your skin. “The way I see it, any man who goes around threatening to duel a girl is nothing but a boy. We both know you’d never speak in such a manner to someone you actually feared, like me, or one of the guards, you don’t fear a woman because you don’t respect them. No matter how likely it is that they could best you. And make no mistake, Arya could. Your attempt to challenge her is for nothing other than your pride and let me inform you little brother, I’m not impressed.”

Joffrey seethed before him, a sight he truly relished in.

“You think I fear you?” He trembled in response. “The day will come _brother_, where we clash swords, you’d be wise to remember that I forewarned it.”

“I don’t fight with swords, _little_ brother. You know I prefer a hammer.” He said proudly. “When you can lift one, you come and find me, yeah?” He finished, proceeding to walk right past him, their uncle following closely.

“Nicely done.” His uncle Jaime commented, something else he was on the cusp of saying.

Gendry halted once more.

“I can’t help but wonder if you didn’t just paint a target on your precious Lady Arya’s back. And while we both know how childish Joffrey can be, is it wise to direct his ire towards her?”

He felt a sense of unease develop.

As inconsequential as he knew Joffrey to be, an unsettling pit of concern welled within him.

He pondered his uncle’s words, wondering if his observation was correct, and if this time he’s pushed Joffrey too far.

* * *

Arya sat around the table in her father’s solar, waiting on Robb to show up with their father for dinner.

The atmosphere in the room was tense, everyone clearly weary of moving or speaking.

Her sister fumed across from her, and she knew it was just a matter of time before that argument took off.

Looking around the room, she wondered just how many more of these gatherings she can expect before it all changes. Her father had yet to tell them all, but it was rendering unnecessary. They all knew he’d accepted the King’s offer to become his hand, and that meant changes for them all.

Robb entered the room then with their father, an amused grin on his face.

“Can someone explain to me why Ser Arys Oakheart is standing guard outside the door?” He asked, taking a seat alongside Sansa.

“Prince Gendry ordered him to protect Arya.” Bran said, snickering into his hands.

“Is Arya going to marry the prince?” Rickon asked then, the air going cold.

“We’re not sure yet, sweetling.” Her mother told him, ruffling the hair on his head.

“Did he now?” Robb asked, not being one to gloss over what Bran had just said. “I take it his excursion to find you was successful then.”

“Robb.” Their mother warned, a troubled look on her face.

“I’m merely making an observation, mother. The crown prince is quite taken with Arya, you’d have to be blind not to see it.” He said, passing their father a goblet of wine/

“We’ll get to that in a moment,” her father said, nodding in gratitude towards the servers as they begun dispersing the food onto all their plates. She tried not to dwell on Jon not being there, knowing he’s probably supping with Theon somewhere, when they should both be in the room with everyone else. “There is much we need to discuss.”

“Because we’re moving to King’s Landing?” Bran asked, voice full of dread.

“Not all of us.” He answered immediately.

“I’m to remain here, am I not?” Robb questioned.

“Yes,” her father confirmed, her heart sinking at hearing it out loud. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, you’re my eldest and heir, you will remain here as Lord of Winterfell. Jon and Theon will stay too.”

“I thought Jon was to join the Night’s Watch.” Her mother asked, Arya’s fists clenching at the thought.

“No,” he denied. “For now, that is out of the question.”

Her mother’s lips pursed, clearly not being happy with that answer.

Arya was trying to decide what her sentiments on that decision were. It’d been naive of her to think Jon would travel with them to King’s Landing and that she could have him near, but a part of her had dared hope.

“For now?” Rickon asked confused.

Her father hesitated before answering.

“Prince Gendry has expressed…interest in offering Jon a position in the capital.” He explained, looking towards her as he did.

Robb choked on his wine.

“When?” She asked, her voice sounding so soft, even to her.

“Today, when we went over plans for tomorrow’s hunt. The King’s party is to return to King’s Landing by early next week, I have also been asked to find time for you and the prince to visit the godswood.”

“Ned—“

“Everyone except for the three eldest boys will accompany me to King’s Landing, that is final.” He declared, knots forming in her stomach at hearing the truth of it for the first time out loud, despite knowing how likely it would be.

“And Robert’s boy, what of that matter?” Her mother pressed, glancing wearily towards Sansa as she did.

“Robert’s boy has made it clear who has his interest, Cat.” He answered.

Sansa huffed.

“So what, that’s it, it’ll be _her_ as the future Queen of Westeros? You cannot be _serious_.”

“Prince Gendry has assured me he will make no official commitment without Arya agreeing to it.”

“Which she never will.” Sansa retorted.

“That’s not true.” She answered impulsively, regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth.

Her father looked at her warmly, a questioning look in his eyes.

“Is this you giving me an answer to what we spoke of earlier?” He asked her softly, a hand reaching out to comfort her.

She swallowed nervously.

“I’ve already told Gendry I’d consider it.” She whispered, unsure if she spoke so lowly because she didn’t want her family to hear, or if it surprised her to mean it so earnestly.

She rolled her eyes when Sansa immediately choked back a sob.

“I’m the eldest daughter, by right this match should be _mine_.” She argued. “Have you even considered everything you’d be asked to comply with as Queen? Bite your tongue, sew with proper ladies, socialize in the capital, carry yourself with grace? You’ve proven you’ll never excel at any of those things.” She told her harshly, bowing her head down in what she could swear was regret on her older sister’s part.

Arya was breathing shakily, the tears on cue forming in her eyes.

“Sansa—“ she heard Robb warn. “That’s enough.”

She shook her head.

“No, she can say what she needs to. Beside’s, she’s right.” She said honestly, leaning forward in her seat, her food having been forgotten. “Contrary to what I’m sure you believe, I don’t set out each and every day to rain misery down on you, Sansa. You’d be much happier if I simply moved out of your way and cleared your path towards becoming Queen. But have you ever stopped for a moment and thought of _my_ happiness?”

The silence in the room was deafening.

“Nothing I do is right, not compared to you. I never say the right thing, I’m never dressed properly, my stitches are pitiful because I have the hands of a blacksmith. But no one ever seems to care that Maester Luwin and even Septa Mordane, no matter how much she’d loathe to admit it, have agreed that I’m better at numbers than you are, I’d manage the better household. But I’m not the proper lady you all are insistent I be in order to amount to anything in this world. Well I’m not, and I never will be. And you know what, Gendry likes me _anyway_.” She said, the words flowing out like a river now. “So yes, I told him I’d consider it. I’m sorry if me taking a _moment_ to consider the first person who’s ever liked me exactly as I am, is such an inconvenience to you. My apologies, that someone who wouldn’t shove me into confronting my greatest fear, to squander everything about me and force me into submission, is someone I might like in return. ” She finished, slumping down in her chair.

She flinched, seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, but it was Bran passing her his handkerchief. Arya smiled gratefully, raising to wipe away the tears that had been falling down her cheeks.

It wasn’t rare that she so openly speak her mind, but this was a first for how brazenly she’d done so.

“Come to think of it, I’m not hungry anymore.” She commented, rising from her chair, not being able to withstand the looks of pity from her siblings for one more moment.

Her father nodded in understanding, a pain in his eyes that she didn’t wish to know what the cause was.

Walking out of her father’s rooms, she choked back a laugh when she saw Nymeria waiting for her.

“How’d you know, Nym.” She kneeled down to greet, a sense of calm washing over her. “Just who I wanted to see.”

“Are you alright, Lady Arya?” She heard a voice call out, groaning she remembered Ser Arys’ presence. Yet despite that, she almost found it touching that he’d bothered to ask.

“I’m fine.” She replied curtly, rising to her feet once more and making her way down one of Winterfell’s many corridors. Only now it wasn’t with one shadow, but two.

“If you’re to insist on following my every move, surely there’s something I can gain from this.” She grumbled.

“I don’t insist, my lady, I follow orders. And mine are to protect you.”

“Fine, if your _orders_ are to follow me around all bloody day long, surely there’s some purpose I can assign to you that wouldn’t drive me mad.” She corrected, but refusing to acknowledge that he’s supposed to protect her.

She can protect herself.

But she _could_ always learn how to do it better.

“Tell me, Ser Arys, how do you feel about teaching your expertise in swordsmanship?”

* * *

Gendry was on the cusp of panting, having raced to the courtyard all the way from deep within the castle.

And the sight he saw was one for sore eyes.

Arya stood in the center of the courtyard, saddling up her horse, Ser Arys and Nymeria waiting patiently for her to finish. Members of her household guard not far behind.

He took note of her appearance, her casual stance in breeches and leather jacket, making her look more striking than ever. Her long hair was braided to perfection, showcasing her natural ease.

Ser Arys had sent one of his mother’s guards to ensure he was awake that morning and to inform him where they’d be.

His joke from earlier already paying off.

“Going somewhere?” He asked out loud, jolting only a bit when Nymeria raced towards him, her nose pressed into the back of his knees, urging him forward.

Arya’s head whipped towards the sound of his voice, a smile just nearing the surface.

“I need to go to Winter Town and pay Jeanor a visit, I won’t get another chance. Beside’s, they’re to accompany my father on the hunt today.” She explained, gesturing towards the members of House Stark’s guard, atop saddled horses and ready to go.

It was then that he realized his own horse was saddled for him as well, the reins in the hand of a massive presence.

“You can let go now, Hodor. If Prince Gendry’s horse runs away, I’m sure it had a good reason.”

He chuckled loudly, as did everyone else present.

“Hodor.” The man replied, rousing Gendry’s confusion. Nonetheless he leapt forward to grip the reins of his steed, before it really _did_ take off.

“Is this an invitation to join you?” He treaded carefully.

Arya stepped onto the stool provided for her, leaning higher to place her foot in the saddle, gracefully swinging herself atop her horse, whilst she pondered. Or pretended to.

“This is me taking precautionary steps to ensure Jeanor won’t refute my payment. With you there, he’ll have to accept.” She said, the light of an early morning highlighting her face for the remarkable beauty that she is.

Gendry nodded, perfectly willing to accept that answer if it meant spending time with her. Swinging himself to sit upon his own horse, he relished in how comfortable Arya appeared to look.

There was so much he’d been going over in his head when it concerned her. The conversation they’d had in his rooms like a flame, lighted inside of him.

“Now, if you promise not to weep too much when I win, I’ll race you.” She challenged, somehow still managing to surprise him.

Gendry laughed again, eyes squinting up at the brightness of the sky before turning towards her. A brightness rivaled only by beaming smile on her face as she stared back at him.

“We have a deal, m’lady.” He agreed, barely having the entire sentence out of his mouth before she’d raced off, Nymeria trailing right behind.

Leaving him in Winterfell’s courtyard, awe-struck and more smitten than he’d already been.

“Do you plan on racing after her and winning, or gawking at her?” Ser Arys called out to him.

“Both.” He answered, speeding to catch up.

He had an inkling he’d spend many days chasing Arya Stark.

It was a future he looked forward to.

* * *

Ned frowned at the letter he’d thrown on his desk.

This was about the last thing he needed before they set-off with the King to hunt.

“Why would they choose to arrive now?” Robb questioned, Jon by his side.

“I think we both know the answer to that, son.” He answered.

Jon sat with his hands clenched, the sound of his leather gloves every time his fist grew tighter becoming more persistent.

“That disgusting, sack of shit—“ he gritted out, and Ned knew exactly who it was in reference to.

“We don’t know if Roose plans to bring his son. The message gives no indication, just that he cannot ignore the honor of the King being so close, and wishing to bend the knee personally.” He tried to reason, knowing it was a lost cause.

“Father, we all know the only thing House Bolton has ever aimed for was a union between our houses, so they have a seat at the table should anything happen to us. Roose Bolton has always desired to be Warden of the North, and that son of his—“ Robb started to say before Jon interrupted.

“Has always wanted Arya.”

Ned raised one of his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose, the day barely beginning and his mind already swirling.

He knew the words his sons spoke to be nothing but the truth.

Roose Bolton wasn’t an honorable man, but he was one who could be reasoned with. And one he’s thus far, always been able to keep in line.

But his son, Ramsay Snow, that one was a rabid animal, through and through.

His reputation at tourneys proceeds him, both in competition and with the women in attendance. And his fascination with his youngest daughter since he met her when she was ten and twelve, has been rather troubling.

Arya has never been one to fear a damn thing if she could help it, but Ramsay—he made even her weary.

What with her likely betrothal to Prince Gendry, gods be good, they were on the brink of a catastrophe.

He could only pray that everyone within Winterfell’s walls make it out unscathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pterodactyl screech*
> 
> Alright so I'm late af with this update but with over 10k words so I hope that made up for it????
> 
> A lot went down in here, I rearranged things, bumped some stuff to Ch 5, put some inklings in here for later on. You'll notice a lot of sort of pre-cursor moments in this chapter. Lots of things that I've planted the seed for because it'll be relevant when we maneuver the plot into King's Landing. Like Gendry assigning Ser Aerys to Arya, it's a joke to start out with, I hope no one thinks he's being controlling in this sense here, but one of the things I want to do with Arya later on is depict how she earns the loyalty and love of people around her. One of those people will be Ser Aerys, who will guard her in a more legitimate sense once she and Gendry are betrothed and in King's Landing. I plan to introduce Brienne at some point, who Arya will be fascinated by and will advocate for her to become a knight as is her goal. Mya and Arya will be great friends too. Joffrey will become an issue later on, and so on and so forth. Many hints in this chapter for things later, is my point. 
> 
> RAMSAAAAAAY, now listen---don't hate me, but---I have him in here as a failsafe for right now. Like he's gonna stir shit up, we're gonna get a smidgen of jealous!gendry because it's what we deserve, but I'm teetering between having them depart for King's Landing already betrothed, in which case the Ramsay conflict will sort of kickstart them into making it official despite still getting to know each other, or waiting and have them make it official innnnn King's Landing. I'm not quite sure yet. 
> 
> Uhhh let's see, next chapter we have Gendry and Arya back where they met, as well as Gendry getting to know more of who Arya is, the type of person Northerners see her as, the relationships she has with the smallfolk, her involvement in their well-being, etc. Arya and Catelyn will speak next chapter, whilst the others go hunting. Sansa and Arya will speak more in-depth as well. Aaaaaand Arya and Gendry will visit the godsood, and Robert will have made some observations on Gendry and Arya. 
> 
> A lot more of self-reflection on Arya's part in Ch 5 as well. Can she handle all the responsibilities as Queen that would be required of her, or will she see it as a challenge, and an opportunity to change things for girls in the future, which I believe she would, but she's gotta get to that decision on her own. And ima get her there.
> 
> Let me know what you think, ya'll, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	5. New Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry learns a lot more about Arya than he was ever expecting to learn in a day. Arya has a lengthy talk with Catelyn and decides how she's likely to proceed with her life. We meet a friend of Arya's who's all too excited at the circumstances. And the doom of an impending arrival hangs over everyone's heads.

Arya breathed deeply the cold, fresh air of the North, any fogginess to her thoughts quickly disappearing.

She tightened her grip on the reigns of her horse, a chill reverberating through her body.

There was a hesitance to turn towards Gendry to stare, but every part of her yearned to do so. She took a risk with her heart that morning, requesting to Ser Arys that he inform Gendry of their departure, but she could no longer deny the truth.

That she willingly sought out Gendry’s company, and that above all---she genuinely desired it.

The day prior had been one of several awakenings for her.

It was all so much at once, she was unsure how to proceed. The Queen’s openness towards her, whether it’s to be believed or not, was unexpected. Yet Arya was not one to be so easily swayed. The circumstances of things in Winterfell were one thing, but she knew that King’s Landing would be it’s own challenge.

It was unlikely for the Queen to remain as passive in nature once she returned home, where appearances were valued above all else. It was what she dreaded most about her family’s impending relocation.

The King’s arrival confirmed what Sansa had told her during their lessons mere days ago.

Her father was to be the new Hand of the King, the second most powerful man in the kingdom, a title that came with tearing her away from the life and home she holds dear. On the cusp of her thoughts was the scarce possibility at a new life she could hold equally as dear.

She didn’t think she’d ever dare say those thoughts out loud.

“For someone who just won our race, you’re awfully solemn about it.” Gendry’s deep voice called out to her, his horse trotting alongside hers, leaving him far closer to her than she was prepare to deal with at the moment.

“Solemn isn’t the word that comes to mind.” She answered softly, pulling gently on the reigns of her horse once they’d reached their destination. Hauling her body over to stand on the ground, she was immediately met with Gendry’s chest as he’d done the same.

Arya exhaled deeply, his scent enveloping her every sense.

He was infuriatingly tall, although most people were in comparison to her.

Nonetheless, her neck craned up to look at him, his blue eyes as fascinating as always.

“Then what word would you prefer, m’lady?” He jested, a quirk to his eyebrow.

“Smug,” she humphed, whirling forward to lead him into Winter Town, a fit of giggles escaping her once she recalled the defeated expression he bore just a few moments ago.

Nymeria fell into step right alongside her, Ser Arys and Jory not far behind, while the rest of the guard remained to keep a hold on the horses.

She increased her speed, expecting Gendry to follow her. And he did.

Just as she secretly hoped he always would.

———————

Gendry was entirely unsurprised when he lost the race to Winter Town, he’d spent far too much time admiring everything he could take note of in Arya, to pay attention long enough to even _try_ to outrace her.

The way the rigid winds made a beautiful mess of the small hairs sticking out of her braid, the pink tint to her cheeks, her now pale lips that he’d love nothing more than to warm up himself.

Anything and everything about her was distracting, it’d left him in quite the stupor.

He was not a naive man when it came to women, his father damn well made sure of it, no matter how improper and unwanted he found such direction.

This was different. 

This was something he’d been unprepared for entirely, a fact as unsurprising as the effects of wine. His father cared little for anything other than ensuring he’d been properly ‘acquainted’ with a woman.

It was infuriating.

Therefore it was no great shock to him that he was completely and utterly stunted with his burgeoning feelings for Arya Stark.

She’d all but made his heart physically soar with joy when she said she’d consider his courting of her. He’d asked—practically begged—her for just a chance to the express the truth of his intentions towards her, knowing there was a dragon egg’s chance she’d agree.

But she nearly had and that was all the incentive he needed.

Gendry hated that he was thinking of his father once more, but he could’t help the rage that flowed through him as he did. His father’s idle nature nearly cost him whatever chance the gods had granted him with this incredible girl. But he fought back for every inch he could gain with Arya and he wasn’t intending to lose ground any time soon.

As he sprinted after her now, her pace as quick as he’d expect it to be, he found himself feeling grateful, and above all—lucky.

“Do you ever slow down?” He asked, letting the air into his lungs deeply, the cold causing his words to stutter out from the chills.

She turned to look at him, slowing down and relaxing into an easy stroll, a very easy smile on her face.

He found he liked this look on her.

Everything about the Arya he saw before him said ‘_free_’ and it was a beautiful sight.

“Not often.” She said truthfully, a mischievous glint to her eyes.

He fell into step beside her, almost immediately igniting the whispers of the townsfolk.

Not that either of them noticed.

Gendry took a moment to look around, noticing the very happy faces amongst the people at the sight of her.

They had that in common, he thought.

“Lady Arya!” A small girl spoke excitedly, her hands happily splaying against Arya’s trousers.

“Lucinda,” she greeted just as warmly. “How are you this morning?” She asked the girl earnestly, a special smile to her face. An entirely new one to the repertoire that he’s noticed of.

“I’m—“ she hesitated—stopping to remember something, smiling brighter than the sun when she did—“I’m well!”

Arya laughed so freely, crouching down to be at the girl’s eye level.

“I’m most pleased to hear that. Now, have you been doing what I asked?” She asked her, just a hint of seriousness added to her otherwise playful tone.

Lucinda nodded eagerly, pointing towards something he wasn’t quite able to make out.

“Lord Stark’s mason’s have been there since day before last, m’lady. Hardly take any breaks, I make sure of it.” She responded deviantly, clearly much to Arya’s amusement.

“Excellent!” Arya told her, reaching into the saddle bag hanging around her torso and pulling out a wrapped morsel.

“Cake?” Lucinda asked in a whisper.

“Of course.”

The squeal of excitement from the young girl was so endearing, Gendry forgot himself and his intentions to remain silent during the exchange, a chuckle escaping him.

The bright eyed blonde looked up at him curiously.

“Who are you?” She wondered out loud.

Gendry had been on the brink of making up a lie to entertain the child with before Arya beat him to it, he was rather certain it was a habit he’d be better off getting used to now.

“This is a special friend of mine, he’s actually a Prince!” Arya told her, a false sense of wonder and amazement for Lucinda’s benefit.

Lucinda’s eyes widened.

He burst into action when he noticed she’d been about to attempt a curtsy, holding one of his hands out in front of him.

“Lady Arya here speaks truly, but there’s no need for a curtsy, Lucinda. My friends may call me Gendry.” He told her, crouching down to her level, alongside Arya.

“It’s interesting you should mention that, because I do seem to recall asking that you call me Arya, yet every few hours you seem to forget.” Arya grumbled, feigning the upset nature of her voice.

“Yes well you must forgive me if I’m not so inclined to show you disrespect in front of such a noble maiden.” He spoke light-heartedly, winking at Lucinda. “So you admit it then, that we’re friends?” He fired right back, not at all intimidated by the audience of a sole girl that they had.

Arya’s mouth gaped open, and he knew he’d bested her, even if only momentarily.

Looking back towards Lucinda, he laughed at the confused expression donned on her.

“Well _I_ think you’re both far closer than friends. You argue like Deana and her husband do.” She pointed out, utterly oblivious to the blush she caused to creep up on both their cheeks at her comment. “Or like Rowena and that man she fancies from the bakery.”

“Eat your cake.” Arya hushed her with a nervous smirk, standing up, her hands awkwardly fidgeting at her sides. “I’ll make my way over in a little while, but first I’ve brought Prince Gendry here on some business.”

“Make sure he comes too!” The girl exclaimed before waving and running off.

He felt warm at the wave of amusement he felt.

“And where exactly is it that you’ll be taking me?” He asked curiously, standing up to stand beside her.

“You’ll see, if you’re lucky.” Arya told him, gently shoving him with her shoulder towards the direction of the smithy.

His happy nature only increased when Arya all but skipped into Jeanor’s shop, a place he felt a great sense of gratitude towards.

It was in this very establishment that he’d been introduced to the spirited brunette by his side, ahe hoped she might one day remain, if she’d do him the honor.

Upon their entrance into the smithy, Jeanor’s eyes widened, whatever magnificent piece he was in the process of crafting instantly forgotten.

“Your grace! M’lady Arya!” He greeted, bowing his head respectfully. “I did not think my shop would have this great fortune of havin you both back.” He continued, flustered beyond relief.

Gendry had a great respect for this man’s work, and his good-heartedness being equally as admirable.

He jolted for a moment at the movement he felt pass by his legs, but eased when he remembered Nymeria’s presence, he relaxed further when she laid her large body at his and Arya’s feet.

He was beginning to learn it was her custom when she felt confident enough that Arya was not in any danger. If the Starks are to be believed, their direwolves have an uncanny ability to sense impending troubles. Their vigilance wasn’t one to ever lower your guard against.

“You honor me by welcoming me in once again, I know how much I must have imposed on your business by doing so. Although I can’t say it was without it’s lovely surprises.” He told the man, making sure he caught Arya’s eye as he did.

He’d been anticipating the faint blush on her cheeks now that they were no longer reddened by the cold, and he was not disappointed.

In fact, he was fairly certain any blush he causes to appear on her face, resulted in it manifesting on his own.

Jeanor’s eyes darted between them, lighting up at perhaps the implied.

“The honor was all mine, your grace! I dare say you’ve given my ol’ shop great favor with em out there.” He replied, gesturing to the busy market just outside.

“I’m most glad to hear it.”

It was then that Arya softly cleared her throat, reaching into her satchel and tenderly pulling out a small pouch.

“We’re here at my request, actually.” She said. “You see, I do believe I requested an item the last time I was here. And it was delivered to me ever so promptly, and in person too! Which was rather unprecedented, but much appreciated.” She joked. “That Clovis you hired really did do a remarkable job.”

Gendry blinked back at that.

“_Did_? Are you implying _Clovis_ would be unable to repeat such craftsmanship?”

“It’s possible, I have no way of proving otherwise.” She prompted back, losing the battle to hold back her laughter. “In any case, I very much intend to pay you for the item I received.” She told him on a more serious note.

Jeanor’s eyes widened once more.

“M’lady, I can accept no such payment.” He stuttered. “I can’t take it for the work wasn’t my own.”

“But it was crafted in your shop, using your anvil and your steel, your polish, your molds for the pommel.” She argued back immediately. “I would very much like to pay you for the hours and resources used to craft my order, if you’ll let me.” She pleaded softly, but not before giving him a swift elbow to the shoulder.

Gendry cleared his throat.

“I must _insist_ on the Lady Arya’s proposition.” He inserted, it was after all the very reason Arya had brought him along.

But he was hopeful there was perhaps another reason.

Jeanor’s gaze darted between them, a hint of some realization in his eyes that Gendry couldn’t quite place.

Arya gently held out the small purse of coins out to the man, a satisfied look on her face once he’d gingerly received it from her.

“That’s settled then!” She harped, her hands clasped together loosely.

“Keep this one out of trouble while you’re out there.” He cautioned Gendry, a warning he almost took seriously before Arya’s laughter signaled the joke of it all.

“Why is that?” He asked, his curiosity at how ingrained Arya was in town growing by the minute.

“I’m sure Rowena a few shops down will fill you in if you see her.” He advised.

He didn’t miss Arya’s low groan under her breath at the mention of this woman.

Oh, _now_ he was far too intrigued for his own good.

That was the same name Lucinda had uttered just a few moments ago.

“A well-known local.” Arya informed him, filling in yet another hole of the information he’d heard from the excited young girl before they’d entered the smithy.

Nymeria had begin to lead them back out into the bustling town.

He nodded in recollection, following Arya out. But not before turning towards Jeanor once more.

“You have my word, I’ll make sure to do just that.” He told Jeanor promptly, nodding when the man bowed his head.

“Don’t you dare ask Rowena anything.” Arya uttered towards him as soon as he closed the door to the smithy.

Gendry wasn’t entirely sure Arya knew what she was doing by starting off so insistent when it came to the matter of this illustrious Rowena. Her words had the opposite effect.

He’d only wanted to meet this woman and ask her something even more now.

“And why is that, m’lady?” He teased back immediately, not for one second missing the edge to her expression.

Arya huffed in frustration, her pace increasing more with each passing moment.

“Let’s just say I’ve come to regret how much I’ve confided her.”

“Hmm, since when?” He fired back.

“Since this very second.” She told him, her flustered nerves unmistakable.

Gendry took a moment to ponder her words, wondering why she was so undeniably tattered with nerves at such a prospect.

“Do you regret bringing me, Arya?” He asked her, all too knowing of what her answer would be. He hoped the smirk wasn’t too cruel of him, but Arya Stark was a girl he imagined he’d always be delighted to know more of.

And it would appear whoever this Rowena was would have answers he wouldn’t dare dream of getting inside of Winterfell’s walls.

Arya has made it no secret that her true status within her home is one that is lonelier than she’d care to admit to most people. But he’s seen bouts of happiness from her in the form of her brothers and he dared say he was grateful she had those brothers.

He took yet again another moment to look at her stunning face, finding it difficult not to admire her lack of tradition when it came towards those she confided in.

Somehow she just kept managing to surprise him.

—————————————————

Arya sprinted towards the broken down orphanage in search of Rowena, before the very bold friend of hers could open her mouth and uttered something that would put even her toes to shame.

She’d fretted over wasting time when she’d checked the alehouse, having sprinted off while Gendry was stuck holding conversation with Deana, and been told Rowena wasn’t due for another hour. She was barely able to make it to the orphanage without Gendry seeing her.

Rowena was her dear friend, she was a year her senior, having met her as a girl on a trip to Winter Town with her father.

Arya had tripped an older man who was giving Rowen far too much attention for her age, and they’d been allies ever since.

It’s undeniable that the citizens of Winter Town are accustomed to seeing them together so often, and almost always in some sort of mishap or another. She worked in the alehouse of the town, a place that brings her friend far too many problems than she can reasonably deter without being tossed out.

That’s where she came in.

“Hey you!” The blonde sputtered the second she laid eyes on her, getting up from the table where she’d been helping feed the younger orphans.

Arya heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of her, not bothering to look out the door and check if Gendry had caught the direction she’d gone in.

“You seen a ghost, or what?” She asked her, brows quizzical at whatever wild expression she was currently showing.

“I may have done something stupid.” She told her friend, who’s surprise amplified further.

“That’s my job, you know.” Rowena teased with a smirk. “What could you have possibly done, Arya?” She asked further, her eyes widening in realization before speaking again. “Gods, you’re not with child are you?”

Arya could scarcely feel any air entering her lungs.

For the moment she would neglect to mention that she wasn’t entirely sure what she felt the stupid thing was. Whether it was bringing Gendry with her to Winter Town, ultimately making him aware of her friendship to Rowena. Which was something she on any other given day wouldn’t consider it as something she needed to hide, but it’d dawned on her just how vulnerable Rowena would make her.

However, it was possible her real qualm was the reality of why she even cared if Gendry met Rowena. What fear would she have of whatever Rowena would say if a part of her—that was growing day by day—didn’t care what he would think.

It wasn’t to say that she feared Rowena’s words would change Gendry’s perspective, she knew that it would. But she’d wanted it to be on her own terms. This thing, with Gendry, whatever it was, frightened her.

“Are you _daft_?” She sputtered, giving the blonde a moderate shove at such an assumption coming out of her mouth.

“Hmph, that’s right, I forgot, Arya Stark is far too nerve wrecked for boys.”

_Oh_, if looks could stab.

She’d been about to begrudge her friend some more but the door opened then, Nymeria trotting in much to the excitement of the children in the orphanage. Her so-called ferocious wolf was all too content to oblige, laying on her belly by all the children to be loved and adored to an extreme amount.

“Arya?” She heard Gendry’s voice call out, seeing him appear in the door way, not missing the way his face relaxed at the sight of her. “There you are!” He called out to her happily. “Deana sure can hold a conversation, especially if it’s about you, we have that in common.”

Arya closed her eyes in disarray.

She pushed down his last few words, not wanting to react to them this very moment.

This trip to Winter Town was turning into a mess before her very eyes.

She heard Rowena gasp beside her, hand wrapping around her forearm and squeezing.

“It appears I stand corrected.” She sang, a _ridiculously_ excited glee to her voice.

“So help me, Rowena, I”ll have you gutted where you stand.” She cautioned falsely, there was absolute zero sincerity behind such a threat and Rowen knew it.

The girl blinked in fake stupor. 

“That right?” She asked. “It’s a good thing you Starks are famous for allowing someone their  last words, yeah? I’ve got mine all figured out, don’t worry about it.” She joked, turning back  towards Gentry, who looked far too amused for his own good. 

His smirk had been insufferable since he realized Rowena was more acquainted with her than

she let on, providing answers that he’d never find anywhere else. 

“You two make a beautiful pair if I’m permitted to say so.”

“You aren’t.” Arya gritted out.

“Quite the contrary, speak freely, Lady Rowena.” Gender countered immediately, wasting no time in introducing himself. “Prince Gendry, happy to make your acquaintance.”

Rowena smiled brightly at her. 

“Sorry Arya dear but the prince—crown prince if gossip serves me correctly—trumps the lady of a great house, and I am after all a most faithful servant.” She joked, moving closer to Gendry with each passing word. “I feel as though I must correct you though, your grace, I’m no lady.” 

Gendry nodded in understanding, maneuvering further into the entryway of the orphanage, not missing the curious gazes of the rest of the children. 

“Would this happen to be the place you have Lucinda so vigilantly watching?” He asked her, spotting the young girl, sending a warm smile her way that made her palms sweat. 

“It isn’t much, but it’s the Winter Town orphanage.” Rowena confirmed. “Arya here has secured the construction of a new one for us! Lucinda keeps an eye on the progress, makes sure the mason’s do their job. Most of us older one’s have jobs in town and can’t keep watch. We know it’s not a priority for most people.” She said sadly. 

“But it’s a priority to me,” she said fiercely. “To my father too.”

“I know,” her friend agreed, her gratitude never wavering. “She promised it to me once, you know? Said she would rule a holdfast, get knighted, or become a Queen somewhere and build me a better home than the one I’ve always known. She was six, but here she is, making good on her end.”

Arya felt her ears turn hot.

Gendry chuckled at the tale, a dangerous glint to him that made her more nervous than she’d ever admit. 

She wanted to punch his stupid face. 

“A Queen, you say?” He asked, with what was undoubtedly the falsest sense of curiosity she’d ever encountered in her life. 

“Oh you bet. Always wanted to be a Queen, this one!” Rowena lied. “I ain’t ever heard her talk of anything else.”

If only she’d be so lucky as to let the ground swallow her hole.

“That’s not—-“ she tried, and failed—miserably. 

“Don’t you listen to her, she’s just shy is all.” 

Gendry straightened his posture.

“As delightful as both those claims are to hear, Rowena, you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t quite believe their validity.” He spoke softly, having calmed down the fit of giggles he’d been on the brink of having. “Long life dream to be Queen and shy aren’t things I imagine could ever be true of Arya.” He said, staring at her so intently she felt as though her heart was about to burst. 

Rowena squeezed her arm again. 

“Alright, but it’s a pity she holds no such dream, if you ask me. She’d make an incredible Queen.” Rowena spoke honestly, and for the first time with sincerity that day. 

“Yes, she would.” Gendry agreed. 

Arya didn’t know if it was the genuine nature of his voice as he said so, or his refusal to look away from her, but her breath caught in her throat. 

At this point her arm most certainly had to be blue with the vigorous nature of Rowena’s grip. 

She fumbled through her mind for a response.

An effort that proved unnecessary as they were interrupted by Ser Arys. 

“Your grace, my lady.” He greeted them with a bow. “One of your father’s guards has ridden in to find me, they’re to depart for the hunting trip soon. You’re to ride back with Lord Stark’s men. I will remain with the lady, of course.” 

Gendry nodded, but Arya felt an idea warming up in her mind. 

“Very well, I’ll head back to my horse at once.” 

“Not so fast,” she spoke softly. 

Gendry turned back towards her, with all the attention he had in him to give. It’s what made speaking to him so bloody difficult. 

“You’ve seen it fit to assign someone to guard me, as my prince I’d feel just awful if I don’t return the favor.” 

“Oh?” Gendry inquired. “And just who did you have in mind, Arya? A good portion of your household guard will already be joining us.” He questioned, humoring her no doubt. 

“You’ll take Nymeria with you.” She declared, drawing the attention of the white and gray wolf who eased her way over to them. 

Gendry had left her flustered all morning so far, it was just delightful to see him equally as bewildered, even if it’s for just a moment. 

“Join Greywind and Ghost on the hunt, Nym. And guard Gendry as you would me.” She ordered of her direwolf, never tiring of how visible it was that Nymeria understood every word. 

“Arya—“ Gendry sputtered out. “I really would feel more comfortable if they were both guarding you.” 

She shrugged. 

“Ser Arys may follow your orders, but Nymeria follows mine.” She challenged. “My brothers are awfully rowdy when they hunt, I wish you the best of luck.” 

She grabbed Rowena’s hand and practically hauled her out the door, Ser Arys right on their tails. 

Arya couldn’t bring herself to look at Gendry one more time. 

She didn’t think she could handle it. 

————————

Gendry was at a loss for words, riding behind his father and Lord Stark in the hunting party. 

He could see Nymeria off to the side with her brothers, carefully following them and keeping a watchful eye. 

“Explain to me how you left with my sister this morning but returned with her direwolf?” Jon asked, pulling up on one side of him, while Robb appeared on the other. 

“Payback, I surmise for ordering Ser Arys to be in her service.” He informed them, fighting back a most grand smile. 

“I’m still amazed she let you live after that,” Robb started. “Arya’s never taken well to restrictions placed upon her.

Gendry frowned at that. 

Robb’s words were like a block of steel that had settled in the pit of his stomach. 

He hadn’t thought of it that way.

Cursing under his breath his knuckles clenched from the grip he laid to the reigns of his horse. 

He had so sincerely hoped Arya didn’t see it that way at all.

Gendry felt a pat on his back and turned towards the source. 

“Rest easy, I don’t think she saw it that way. You’d hardly be able to stand upright if she had, I assure you.” Jon joked, his eyes holding the truth. 

“Good, I’m glad. In any case, I’ll have Ser Arys taken off her service the moment I return if she wishes.”

Robb and Jon laughed at that.

Loudly. 

“You, Prince Gendry, are properly gone, aren’t you?” Robb teased, with what Gendry wished so dearly to be a genuine smile on his face. There was far too much about his life that he would never be able to control. But getting on well with Arya’s family was as essential to him as winning her heart was. 

Arya had been the blushing presence earlier that day, but now it was most certainly him. 

He found it easier to look forward rather than at any of them when he nodded at Robb’s assessment. 

“If you’ll allow me to say so, yes, I am. Which is why I was hoping you wouldn’t mind me asking you both something.”

“Taking advantage of the situation to inquire about our sister, eh?” Jon realized. 

“I am nothing if not opportune,” he replied earnestly. “I encountered a friend of hers, Rowena, when we were in Winter Town.”

Robb nodded in his head in realization. 

“Your sister seemed rather well-known there.”

Jon had a look full of pride when he’d said as such.

“Aye, I surmise she would be. Arya frequents town whenever she can. She’s got a habit of looking after the smallfolk. It hasn’t gone over well with Lady Stark or her septa, but I’m sure you’ve realized by now that Arya does as she pleases, or rather what she feels is right. Even if it means stepping on a few toes or getting in the way.” Jon explained.

“One of my father’s guards used to call her Arya Underfoot.” Robb elaborated, a tone of utmost fondness heard in his voice. “Not that she minded, she liked it a lot better than the alternative.” 

Jon winced at those words. 

Gendry caught his eye and meant to inquire further.

“It’s best Arya explain that, if she chooses to,” he emphasized. “Should she ever tell you, you’ll understand why it’s a rather large sore spot for her.”

“Understood.” 

Gendry was dumbfounded at the range of emotions coursing through him. 

In just this single morning he’d received more information about Arya than he could have ever dared hope for. 

But it did nothing to quell his curiosity on the fascinating nature of Arya Stark. 

If anything, he wanted to learn even more. 

—————————————————

“I cannot believe you’ve been holding out on me! What kind of friend are you, eh?” Rowena screamed, plopping down to sit across from her at one of the tables in the alehouse. 

It was far too early for the spot to be as busy as it usually is. 

The two of them so often met in the mornings for that very reason. It required her avoiding her lessons, which was all the more reason to do so. 

“I’m not holding out on you.” She grumbled back, her friends bright grin almost blinding. “The King’s party arrived a few days ago, when was I supposed to share any of that with you. It’s one gathering after another up there, I can hardly bare it.” She complained, masquerading the truth for why she was so overwhelmed. 

“Days that you’ve made very good use of, it would seem. Do you not expect me to notice how acquainted you seem to be with the _crown prince_, Arya!”

Her stomach sank at Rowena’s words. 

“Don’t remind me.”

_Crown prince. _

They were words she could never forget, no matter how hard she tried. 

Her hands clenched in front of her. Why did he have to be the future king? Everything that came with association to him made her want to scream. 

Why couldn’t he be easier to like?

No, that wasn’t the right set of words. Gendry _was_ easy to like, that’s what left her in such a frenzy. It’s his rank that makes it hard. 

Rowena’s gaze hardened and narrowed. 

She had an insufferable talent for reading her emotions. Her own fault, she supposes, for confiding in the blonde to the extent that she does. 

A choice she’d make a thousand times over if the result was always the friendship they had.

“You’re afraid,” Rowena realized. 

Arya let out a shaky breath, resting her head on her forehead for mere seconds before lifting it back up. 

“Oh, Arya you don’t fool me for even a moment. You like him, _really_ like him, and you’re scared of it.” She continued, her gaze softening. 

“Figures, the first man I take any interest in and he’s the bloody crown prince.” She hissed. 

“How is that a bad thing?” 

“I think the shorter list would be how _isn’t_ it a bad thing.”

“That is a load of shit and you know it.” The blonde argued and she had a feeling they’d be arguing a lot today.

“Got into it with my sister last night over it, and I know for certain that talk isn’t over yet. Far from it.”

Rowena leaned back, impressed.

It was short-lived because of what she said next. 

“I’m starting to think she was right.”

Her friend scoffed dramatically, gaining the attention of Ser Arys, who for just a moment thought something was wrong. 

“Your sister has never been right a day in her life.”

She refrained from laughing at Rowena’s disdain for her sister. Because however much she and Sansa didn’t get along, which was always, even she knew that wasn’t true. 

“Think what you wish, but she _was_ right.” She said sadly. “Whatever I may or _may not _feel about Gendry, if I let it progress, it entails a bunch of things I haven’t really thought of. Things I’m no bloody good at.”

Sansa’s words last night had kept her awake. 

Because the truth was she _hadn’t_ thought about everything that would follow if Gendry courts her. If she allows them to be betrothed. 

If she _accepts_.

She would be a Princess of Westeros, the future Queen. 

It was damning enough to be Lady Arya. 

“What does whatever _they_ think is important in a woman have to do with you being _Queen_ one day?” Rowena asked her, genuinely dumbfounded. 

“If I’m barely adequate enough to do what’s expected of a lady, do you really think I’d be any better as a Princess? I’d embarrass myself all the same, only in front of a lot more people.” 

“You know, for a girl with as fancy an education as yours, you really are daft sometimes.” Rowena told her, reaching out to gently lay her hands on top of her clenched ones. “I’ve known you almost my entire life, and you’ve never once been this dazed or insecure.”

Arya chuckled bitterly. 

“If you were up at the castle, you’d see this version quite a lot.”

She couldn’t imagine a future where the scrutiny she was subjected to, increased tenfold. 

“Why hasn’t it crossed your mind that with you seemingly having won the crown prince’s heart, not only would you be _happy_, because deny it all you want, I think he’s well on his way to winning your heart too. You would be in a position to enact _change_, Arya. We talk about it all the time, women getting to choose for themselves what they deem important to their livelihoods. How stupid it is that girls aren’t taught to defend themselves. The way bastards are treated being disgusting, as if they have any say in being born. You could change all that!” She passionately said. 

Arya felt the tears well up in her eyes. 

“Be the change you’ve lived your life waiting for.” Rowena finished, with a great sigh. As though she’d been holding that in for the gods know how long. 

It was like a dam had cracked open. 

Arya felt the fire she’d snuffed out herself, light itself once more. 

Rowena was right, as much as the blonde would gloat if she admitted it. 

It was time she had a talk with her mother. 

——————————

“These boys of ours aren’t too bad!” His father yelled, in his drunken glory. 

A reality he’s grown disappointingly used to. 

Gendry’s stomach eased at the expression on Lord Stark’s face. It was clear most of the time that he didn’t approve of quite a few of his father’s habits. 

If he held an ill impression of hunting whilst drunk, he didn’t show it. 

“Aye, I say we made a couple of good one’s.” He answers with a hearty chuckle. 

“Even that ward of yours, he’s bloody good with a bow. You raised him far better than that idiot, Balon, would’ve. He should be thankful.”

Gendry sweared under his breath, hoping Theon was far enough to not hear.

While he agreed that Theon likely fared better with Ned Stark over Balon Greyjoy for a father, it was hardly fair to throw such circumstances into his face. 

“He’s a good lad, I’ve enjoyed having him amongst my boys.”

“Will you seek a match for the boy, he’s of age now to sail off to the iron islands and come back with an army, you know. The small council has advised we do more than let him remain your ward.”

Gendry’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Meaning?”

“They had advised me before riding for Winterfell, to propose a match between Theon and one of your daughters.”

His blood ran cold. 

Of all the blasted things he anticipated hearing his father speak of, this wasn’t something he’d even remotely considered. 

Arya’s words from the day before resurfaced to shame him again. 

Every word she’d yelled at him was true. Their fears were not the same, and given the words his father had just uttered, they never were. Not even close. 

No matter what decision she settles upon, she’ll be betrothed. 

The guilt that had formed in his stomach was growing in size by the second. 

“Robert—“

“Nothing is set in stone. But as much as I would hate to admit it, those vultures of the small council are right. Theon Greyjoy as a boy was confined as your ward, but he’s a man grown now, only a few years older than Gendry, what is to stop him one day from riding off, never to be seen again till our boys meet him in battle, hm? We’d be fools to think Balon wouldn’t at least try and convince him to do it.”

“Have you no faith in the ward I raised?” 

“I’ve all the faith in the world of ya, you know that, Ned. But you must think of what is possible.” 

“If we agree to such a match—“

“It’d have to be done with your eldest daughter. I may not know much about Gendry, my fault of course, I never bothered to know him. But I do know when he’s properly besotted. And he is, with your daughter, Arya. “ 

Gendry let out a loose breath. 

Had he really been so obvious?

He knew that interrupting Arya and Sansa’s meeting with his mother and Myrcella was likely to have caused a stir, but he thought he’d shown at least a small amount of subtlety. 

If even his father noticed, a man who noticed nothing that wasn’t wine and women, then he was pathetically obvious. 

“Aye, and Arya and I have spoken of it. It appears our children do a great deal of talking on their own.” 

His father laughed wickedly at that. 

“How sure are we that that’s all they’re doing?”

Gendry’s hands tightened around the lance he was holding. His father’s values got lower by the day, it was a wonder he hadn’t dropped dead from the sheer ridiculousness of it all. 

“Robert.” Ned warned gently, which seemed to settle his father instantly. 

He held his hands up to signal no offense. 

“I like them together, your Arya and my Gendry, it’s like looking into the past, no? A future that almost was.” 

Gendry watched on as Ned pondered this, a smile that was hard to read on his face. 

“We should’ve been bound by blood, you and I.” His father continued. “Had I married Lyanna like I was meant to.” 

Ned’s face became softer than he’d ever seen it. 

“Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be then, but it is now.” 

His father agreed with that, nodding vigorously. 

“I’ll make sure of it.”

Gendry had been prepared to intrude on this conversation at some point.

Now he wasn’t so sure he could.

—————————

“Septa Mordane and I have been looking for you all morning, Arya. You were supposed to have lessons with your sister, Princess Myrcella and her ladies. It’s terrible form for you to not have shown up.” Her mother hissed, now following her as she’d been trying to sneak her way into her room. 

“Apologies, mother. I had some business in town. I may not have been with the Baratheon you expected me to be with this morning, but I was with one of them.”

She was provoking her, that much she knew. 

But her mother had been showing a great deal of restraint since their guests arrived and it was getting them nowhere. Only the gods know just how much Catelyn Stark has been holding her tongue about. 

But she was about to find out. 

Leading her mother into her room, she wasn’t the least bit surprised when she huffed so harshly. 

“Have you any idea how you’re making yourself look, how you’re making this family look?”

Arya shrugged carelessly. 

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.” 

“There is a way things are done.” She said, her anger almost unreadable. 

“I know far too well about ‘the way things are done’, mother. I’d really prefer not to receive this lecture again.”

“Then why is that you won’t just do what’s expected of you!” She yelled.

“Because that isn’t me!” She snapped, the tears she’d been holding in since speaking to Rowena finally falling freely. “It isn’t me and_ you don’t_ _care_.” 

She flinched at that.

And so did she. 

Arya hadn’t been expecting the unfiltered anger to come across when she’d said it. 

“Arya—“

“I’d gone to Jon once when I was younger, crying, asked him if I was a bastard too.” She revealed, surprising her mother greatly. “Robb, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon, they all look like you, they fit right in with every role you’ve ever given them. Whereas I’m neither of those things.” Arya swallowed loudly, beginning to move around her room, deciding how to proceed. “He assured me though, that I was as much half-Tully as the rest of his siblingsare, and he didn’t speak ill of you in the process. Which is more than you deserve from him.” 

Her mother’s posture went rigid at this. 

“You may find it difficult in your heart to show any sense of decency towards Jon, but why has it never occurred to you why I love him so much? It isn’t because I aim every day to displease your rules, or the way the world works, or whatever other fucking restraint is placed upon women in this world.”

Arya took a pause waiting for her mother’s answer, if she even had one.

She didn’t. 

“You _don’t_ know why, and as my mother, why haven’t you bothered to _ask_?”

The tears fell more frequently. 

“You’ve never bothered to inquire why Sansa and I can’t stand each other so much either, why we’ve never gotten along, why I prefer to have tea with the girls from the kitchen rather than the others. Everything I do, everything I am is a great, big joke to them, and _you don’t care_.”

She could hardly see through her tears now.

“Septa Mordane should—“

She barked out a laugh. 

“She should what, put a stop to it?” Her laughter was low and vicious. “That’d be a first. She can hardly be bothered to teach me to sew properly. My pitiful stitches are the cause of great laughter in our lessons, since no one bothered to teach the left-handed daughter to sew in the other direction like I should’ve been taught to, no, it’s far better for them to have someone to ridicule.” 

Her mother took several pauses, wanting to say something but clearly never quite finding the right words. 

“Jon and I feel different in this house,” she circled back. “Him for a label it isn’t his fault he has, and me for not fitting a label that I did not choose.” 

“These circumstances with Prince Gendry then—“

“I meant what I said last night.” She snarked. “He seems to like me for _me, _not what I was told I needed to be. And that—that means everything to me, mother.”

Her mother’s resolve finally broke. 

She rushed forward, enveloping her in her long arms. 

Arya let herself break down, clinging to her mother as she hadn’t done since was barely six. 

“Oh my sweet girl,” she murmured into her hair, the pressure in which she was squeezing almost unbearable, but Arya didn’t dare say a word. 

“I feel so lost sometimes.” She finally said at least, the words coming out like a whisper against her mother’s shoulder. “It shouldn’t be this hard.”

“I love you, with all my heart, never doubt that.” Her mother spoke firmly. “I know I’m hard on you, but I—oh, there’s really no explanation for it, is there?” She relinquished, managing to get a smile out of her. It wasn’t often she saw her mother at such a loss for words. 

“I know I said last night I was considering whatever this is with the prince, but today I almost made up my mind for all the wrong reasons,” she revealed. “Do you have any idea how hard it is hearing every day you’d be awful at the only life that someone like us can have?” 

“Arya, dear…you are my most strong-willed child. And I believe with everything I am that you’d shine doing whatever you set your sights on. You’re a Stark, through and through, I see that in every bit of you, from the moment Maester Luwin placed you in my arms.”

She couldn’t explain the swell of emotions in her chest. 

Moments like these were ones she usually shared with her father, but having them with her mother felt like gaining a piece of herself back. 

A piece she didn’t even know she was missing. 

“Will the price of me following my heart be my failure at everything else?” She wondered.

“You bite your tongue, young lady.” Her mother chastised. “It just so happens that I think you would make an extraordinary queen.” 

“Then why do I feel like this could so easily be the biggest mistake I’ll ever make?”

Her mother pondered at that.

“I wasn’t supposed to marry your father, you know.” She started, revisiting a story that she only knew pieces of. “I was betrothed to your Uncle Brandon, for a great period of my life. But when the news reached Riverrun of what had happened to him in King’s Landing, the plans were quickly adapted for me to marry your father. We were married within a fortnight, in the middle of a war, and then he was gone.”

Arya blinked in shock. 

She knew her parents’ marriage was a happy one, she’s always known. They’ve never looked anything other than perfectly in love with one another. 

But to know that her mother spent so little time with her father before marrying him, and even less time after, that hurt her in a way she couldn’t quite describe. 

It only served to brighten the fire that burned within her. 

“As plentiful as my marriage to your father is, the way your Aunt Lysa and I were married off was not something I would wish on anyone’s children. It was sudden and lonely. But I had hoped at least one of my children would get a choice, I wish that were the way of the world. I can’t even begin to tell you how warming to my heart it is that it might be the circumstance for you. Your father always speaks of Brandon and Lyanna as having the wolf blood, he says it of you too.” She told her. “It used to scare him to see it in you, he believed it’s what caused their fates. But I think seeing now, the circumstances you’ve made for yourself, he’ll agree that the wolf blood in you, is a sign of your prosperity.”

This lifted his spirits more than anything else ever could. 

“Thank you, mother.” She whispered earnestly, pressing her face into her shoulder. A comfort she hadn’t shared with her in quite some time. 

“Now, why don’t you tell me about Prince Gendry, between you and me, I hope he’s not much like his father.” 

Arya laughed at that, never hearing her mother speak so cavalierly. 

“He isn’t.” She confirmed quickly, taking a deep breath before voicing her feelings further. “I like how I feel around him.” 

Her mother’s eyes sparkled at that. 

“And how exactly do you feel around him, sweetheart?” 

“Like myself.” 

————————————

Gendry had been struggling for the past few minutes to figure out what it was that had Robb and Jon acting so oddly.

They were fine all yesterday, but on the second day of their hunt, something was clearly troubling them.

They’d shared a look between each other earlier that he couldn’t quite get a read on. 

And now, they’d been growing increasingly restless as time went on. 

They were under no obligation to divulge to him their thoughts, but he was positively yearning to just ask them what was on their minds. 

He hoped he wasn’t being anywhere as equally transparent in hiding his own thoughts. 

It had occurred to him to tell the eldest Stark boys of the conversation he’d overhead between their fathers, but had decided against it. 

Theon was close by and he couldn’t risk the iron born overhearing his father’s intentions. 

It could cause the very thing the small council is trying to prevent. 

“Is there something I should know?” He asked them, wiping his hands after having finished preparing the meat. 

Jon’s eyes grew dark at the question, whereas Robb sighed in resignation. 

“We’ve been debating telling you something.” The auburn Stark told him hesitantly. 

This peaked his curiosity. In the time since he’d met the Starks, he hadn’t found any one of them to be timid when trying to get their voices heard, not even Sansa, the most reserved of the group. 

“Oh?” He asked genuinely. “Anything I need to be worried about? You’re not plotting to slit my throat in my sleep, are you?” He joked. 

The wrong joke to make judging by the looks on their faces. 

“_We_ aren’t, but someone—“ Robb had started to say before Jon elbowed him in the arm to cut him off. 

This only confused him further. 

“I’d appreciate your candor, lads.” He spoke firmly, not having patience for the way they were tip-toeing around whatever it was they wanted him to know. 

Jon let out a huff of air, clearly having decided he’d be the one to speak.

“Before we departed for the hunt, my father received word that we’re to entertain another pair of guests before everyone heads down to King’s Landing.” He began, a purely pained look on his face as he said so. “House Bolton.” 

Gendry nodded at that, but neglected to show how puzzled he was at their anger. House Bolton was a bannermen of House Stark, shouldn’t they be accustomed to dealing with them?

“As crude as their sigil is, are they not under your father’s rule? It’s not as though they get much practice with their area of...expertise,” he commented. “Your father outlawed flaying in the North, did he not?” 

To his knowledge, Lord Stark had successfully reigned in the most volatile lordship under his rule. 

Jon and Robb shared another look between them. 

No, he realized, there was something he was missing from this situation. 

“How much have you heard of Ramsay Bolton?” Robb asked.

He shrugged at that inquiry. 

“Lord Bolton’s bastard son?” He asked, gaining a nod from them in return. “Not much, I’m afraid. Judging by your faces you know him well, I take it.”

“Aye, we encounter him often in tourneys.” Robb said. 

“Too often.” Jon followed, his hands wrung so very tight. “Ramsay has a…history. He’s a vile fighter, we’ve been lucky, he’s gotten dismissed from every tourney we’ve seen him at before we faced him. Doesn’t mean we haven’t almost come to blows with him.” Jon said, a dangerous anger in his eyes. “And he has quite the fondness for Arya.” 

Gendry felt his eyes widen. 

“A disgusting obsession, actually.” Robb clarified to him, further enlarging the swell of anger at the words he was hearing. 

He racked through his brain trying to find the words. 

“I don’t understand—“ was all he managed to muster. 

“When she was ten and four, father accompanied us to a tourney in the Vale, so she got to come. That’s when Ramsay met her and he hasn’t left her alone since.” 

Gendry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Have you met your sister? She’s very good at making sure she isn’t bothered.” He tried to reason, looking for an excuse. 

“Maybe so, but you’re underestimating him and that’s the same mistake Arya made.” Jon told him. 

If they were trying to frighten him—it was working. 

“Arya doesn’t fear much, but he unnerves her a great deal. We almost took his head when we found them that day.” 

“Aye, and we would’ve if our father hadn’t stopped us.” Jon hissed. “After that she kept getting letters. Disgusting, sick, graphic letters about what he can’t wait to do with her when they’re married. How if it were up to him they’d have started that day before we found them. Our Father’s ridden to the Dreadfort, accompanied by us and a quarter of our men, to demand Lord Bolton reign in his son for being so disgraceful towards Arya’s honor. And no matter how many times he swears he’s set Ramsay straight, the letters come, and the gifts. Maester Luwin reads all her correspondence before handing it to her because after she received his first letter, she didn’t come out of her room for four days.” 

As cold as the air already was around them, he felt it grow colder on their words alone. 

He thought to the strong, fierce, _incredible_ girl he’s been lucky to know so far, and truly pondered what kind of monster it would take to make even _her_ afraid. 

“You both believe this visit to your house was planned then?” He hesitated to ask, not sure if he could stomach knowing any more about this situation that they’d already told him. 

Robb sighed greatly, taking a seat in one of the chairs his father’s servants had set-up the day before. One of the few things those very servants hadn’t packed up yet as they were due to leave that afternoon. 

This hunt was only meant to be overnight, but now, knowing what he did, he wished he’d never come at all. 

“What we _think_ is that word has reached the Dreadfort of you and Arya.” 

Gendry froze hearing that. 

It was a consequence he hadn’t been expecting, one that he should’ve pieced together already. 

It explains the stares they received in Winter Town. 

_Damn_.

“The feast was two nights ago, I received a raven about it from a friend in Torrhen's Square. If it’s reached there, it’s at the Dreadfort. And if that’s the case, Roose and that git of a son of his will be making their way to Winterfell any day now.” Jon explained. 

“The raven had the excuse that House Bolton is all too eager to pledge their loyalty to your father in person, but Jon and I both know they’re just coming to see if your father would legitimize Ramsay. And if they manage to secure that, they’ll once again try and get our father to agree to a betrothal between Arya and Ramsay.” 

“Once again?” He asked dreadfully. 

“They’ve asked quite a number of times over the years, even after we confronted them with the letters he was sending her. And Roose has always wanted our houses to be bound by blood. Ramsay is the only way he can do that.” 

The look on his face was likely his most gruesome yet.

He began to harbor such a deep hatred for a man he’d never even met. 

A man he knew nothing about. 

But what he did know was that Arya feared this man. 

And that was enough. 

———————

Arya had been spending time she put to very good use by questioning Ser Arys of his swordsmanship skills and cornering him into agreeing to teach her when Sansa interrupted them. 

“Arya,” she spoke timidly, with actual sincerity towards her for the first time in a while, the always docile Lady by her side.

Sansa sat down beside her at the table she’d been occupying in the great hall, her hands fidgeting for the first time that she’d ever seen. 

Ser Arys stood at once, rising to perform his duty whilst she conducted her affairs, such as a simple conversation with her sister. 

Her heart warmed at that. 

“Please remain seated, Ser Arys, we’re in my home, I’m not in danger here. Besides, I very much intend to hear you explain your failure to emulate Ser Arthur Dayne, when trying to learn with two blades.” She teased, gesturing for him to retake the seat he had just been occupying. 

“Dare I admit I’m amazed you’re even speaking to me.” She revealed to her sister, a warm smile on her face once Ser Arys had followed her instruction. “What brings you to initiate small talk with me, Sansa?”

“Can’t I exchange a few words with my sister?” She tried to reason, not being able to maintain a straight face as she said it. 

Arya scoffed light-heartedly. 

The truth was she wasn’t in any mood to fight with her sister.

She still felt rather drained from saying everything she’d been holding in towards her mother the day before. And she was in no way emotionally capable of rehashing a similar level of conversation with Sansa, who was just as, if not more difficult to get through to than their mother. 

“Alright, I never have been able to lie to you.” She admitted. 

_We hardly talk enough for you to know that. _

Arya bit her tongue, standing her ground about not wanting to argue today. 

“What you said the other night, did you mean it?” 

She leaned back—surprised. 

That hadn’t been what she was expecting Sansa to try and speak to her about.

It wasn’t a conversation she felt they were ready to have yet. 

So she shrugged her shoulders. 

“I said a lot of things the other night,” she merely replied, wincing right after because she felt it was the wrong thing to say. 

Sansa sighed with exasperation. 

It was almost enough to make Arya feel a semblance of remorse for being so cold to her. 

Almost. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific, I _did_ say a lot. Things I’ve been meaning to say for a long time.” 

Sansa giggled—loudly. 

“_Really_?” She tried. “You’ve been meaning to declare your intentions to consider Gendry for a _long time_?” 

Arya had rather settled into not blushing all the time with Gendry gone, but here her sister was, managing to make it happen. 

She fretfully glanced towards Ser Arys who was stifling his amusement, her ears almost painfully hot. 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” She sputtered out. 

“But yet don’t deny it then, Lady Arya?” Ser Arys asked her, a devious look to his eye. 

_Now_ she was in for it.

In the time since she’d become acquainted with Ser Arys, they had yet to run out of topics to hold conversation about. 

It turns out he’s quite the gossip. 

And now he’s heard too much, so it doesn’t matter what her answer is, everything they’ve said will most certainly get back to Gendry. 

Becoming a wildling was suddenly the most appealing thought she’s ever had. 

“You’ll have your chance to strain gossip out of me whilst we train and _only_ then.” She told him light-heartedly, refusing to answer his question. 

She was surprised to see Sansa laughing along with them. 

It was heard to remember a time where they’d been in such a relaxed conversation. 

“Yes, I meant it.” She finally answered. 

If she was reading her sister correctly, that was definitely disappointment on her face. 

And the truth was, she _understood_. 

She understood why Sansa was so upset, despite disagreeing with how she chose to express it. 

Just as she had been so frustrated at a life laid out for her that neither wanted, nor was right for. 

The opposite could be said for her sister, and she was just as entitled to be angry over it. 

Sansa had trained dutifully her whole life, excelling at things she always seemed to fail at, for this purpose. 

She was one of less than five daughters to a great house in Westeros, in excellent positioning to have been the future Queen. 

The rumors for years had been that it would come down to Margaery Tyrell or Sansa. 

She designed her whole life for the possibility. 

But all of that aside, it doesn’t make Arya’s hurt and feelings any less valid. 

“Sansa, look—“ she had started to say, before the horn from the gate blew, signaling someone’s arrival. 

She cursed under her breath for having immediately hoped it was the hunting party back early.

Sansa gasped at the sound, her hand reaching out to tightly grasp hers which provided her with zero comfort. 

In fact, it made her increasingly nervous. 

“Oh Arya, that’s the other thing I had come down here to tell you, I thought I had more time.” She told her, a crack in her voice. 

“Tell me what?” She asked, her mouth having run dry. 

Something wasn't right,she immediately realized. 

“Mother told me earlier that the night before the hunting party left, father received a raven from the Dreadfort, House Bolton rides for Winterfell.” 

Her hand fell limply out of Sansa’s grip. 

_No_.

“Lord Bolton won’t arrive till the morning, but a guard rode in to say that we should expect Ramsay _tonight_. Mother’s furious, she’s going to make sure the guards escort him to a room in Winter Town. She can hardly receive a lesser Lord’s bastard as a guest with the Queen under our roof.”

Arya couldn’t feel the air entering her lungs.

This was—the worst thing she could’ve ever been told. 

Ramsay arriving before his father, without his father more accurately. And before the King returns from hunting. 

This was planned, she pieced together. 

Ramsay learned something that forced his hand into coming here ahead of his father, in the most opportune moment with the least amount of people around.

After what happened when they'd met, what he'd told her in that awful first raven he sent her, she wouldn't feel comfortable with him learning a damn thing about her. 

Because one piece of information was enough for someone like him. 

It was enough the last time and she held no doubt that he'd make terrifying use of anything else he'd learned about her.

“Lady Arya, are you alright?” Ser Arys asked her, with what seemed to be a genuine concern. “You’re as pale as the snow outside, my lady.” 

“I—“ she tried to say, not having a strong enough resolve to put together anything to say. “Yes,” she finally said, wiping away the sweat that had collected on her brow. “That just wasn’t what I was expecting to hear, is all.”

And gods, she hoped that sounded as strong as she needed to be.

She couldn’t afford to be anything less now. 

———————————

Gendry had been trying to make the most of the evening after he’d spoken to Jon and Robb, but Nymeria had grown restless for the first time this trip and it was making him nervous. 

He’d spoken with his father, with Lord Stark, had caught a few rabbits.

And in all that, Nymeria hadn’t settled for even a moment. 

The large wolf couldn’t quite manage to stay still, despite having been such a big help in everything he’d caught so far. 

“Do you think she misses Arya?” Robb asked, sitting down next to him. “It would make sense, they’ve never been apart before. I've tried telling her we return to Winterfell tomorrow morning but she won't settle down.”

Gendry looked towards Grey Wind and Ghost, only slightly alert given the state of their sister, but otherwise relaxed. 

“I’m not sure.” He answered him, not being able to help thinking that it had to be something _more_.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out. 

Nymeria howled loudly.

This drew the attention of his father, and his Kingsguard, and just about everyone else in the hunting party. 

He looked towards Nymeria bewildered, squinting towards her for some type of answer, as if that’d help him find one. 

Before he could approach the wolf, she took off running, leaving everyone in a stupor. 

“What in seven hells—-“ Jon mumbled.

Gendry looked in the direction she’d taken off towards, until he could no longer see her speeding body. 

He racked his brain, thinking of every other encounter he’d had with Arya and her direwolf.

The way the wolf was always alert, but _calm. _Even in the day and a half they’d been out here.

He remembered the way she would always lay at Arya’s feet. 

_“Does she always do that?” _He remembered asking Arya.

_“Only when she’s certain I’m not in any danger.”_

“It’s Arya,” he realized, feeling like a fool for not realizing it the moment the grey and white wolf took off. “Something’s wrong.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you're all staying safe and entertained in these crazy times. I wish you and your families all the health and prosperity in the world! 
> 
> It's been a hot min and my many apologies for that, got kinda sidetracked with a few things. I'm a university student and the switch to remote learning has been difficult, it's a lot of typing work. Most of which I'm used to but it's a lot extra so I've been getting a grip on how to balance it. I'm also my god-daughter's legal guardian and she switched to remote learning back in mid-March so I do her hours of remote learning with her and then do mine, but I've got a solid schedule set now so I'm doing great and back on track. I've got three chapters of this written now! I made sure it was another long one to make up for the wait, and the next chapter will be on Wednesday or Thursday! 
> 
> There's a couple of things in this chapter I wanna talk about, the first thing is Rowena!!! She's an oc of course, but if the dynamic between her and Arya sits well with you guys, I'd really like to keep her??? One of my big things once Arya makes the move to KL will be her female friendships because Arya Stark thinks women are the mf best, god dammit. So she needs to have her own group of ladies, and Mya will definitely be one, ideally I'd like to have one that knows her suuuuper well, hence Rowena, and I was thinking of adding maybe Meera? Lemme know how that flows with ya'll, if you'd rather I didn't, or who you'd want instead, say what's on your mind, don't hold back. 
> 
> The possible Theon/Sansa match wasn't something I put in for guarantee, I mean I could if that's what you guys think I should, but it's more there for politics sake. And as we saw with Arya and Sansa, they had the inklings of possibly getting into a conversation where they could reach a middle ground, but the revelation of this match, will set that back. Because this will enforce what Sansa feels was taken from her, by being in talks for a match she's offended by. I'd like her to be in KL and try to play the field a bit. Right now I have it outlined for her to try for Willas, or even Joffrey still at this point, but Robb/Margaery will be tossed out in talks later on as well, so it's all for politics sake. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the reviews on the last chapter, I reaaallly appreciate it, you guys are TRULY the best, and I hope you like this one!


	6. Shedding Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya tells Gendry the truth and she finally reaches a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *taps mic* is this thing on? 
> 
> Helloooo everyone! My massive apologies for this unplanned long wait. I had a bit of a computer malfunction, lost almost this entire chapter, and like half of the next one, but I'm back on track here, new laptop, recovered words, and we're good to go!! I hope that you guys enjoy this update! It's a long one and I hope that makes up a teensy bit for the wait! I switched around a significant bit from the first book for conflict and I hope it reads okay. As always, let me know what you guys think!

“Lady Arya, are you sure you’re alright?” Ser Arys called after her, having to pick up his pace quite a bit in order to keep up with her.

She’d practically run out of the great hall after hearing Sansa’s words.

Gods, she wished Nymeria were here.

Taking a deep breath, she halted and turned towards the Kingsguard who’d become less of an irritant towards her as the hours passed by.

“If I tell you to keep someone away from me until I tell you otherwise, would you not only do that, but keep to yourself what I’ve told you?” She asked hesitantly, wondering just how much she could trust the man before her.

Ser Arys looked at her with what she hoped was genuine concern.

“My prince has ordered me to protect you as I would him, you have my word, I would do as you bid.” He told her earnestly.

She exhaled shakily.

“Lord Bolton’s son, Ramsay.” She whispered, dreading even saying his name. “Keep him as far away from me as you can without drawing attention to it.”

This surprised Ser Arys, the widening of his eyes unmistakable.

He’d been about to answer before she continued.

“And that goes for the prince as well. Don’t allow those two to ever find themselves alone, even if it means leaving me on my own, swear to it, Ser Arys.”

He looked as bewildered as she expected he would. She knew what it sounded like, what she was telling him.

“Are you implying the crown prince is in danger?” He hissed, hand on the hilt of the sword by his side.

“I’m _telling_ you, that anyone who gets in Ramsay’s way is.” She spoke firmly. “Now, swear to what I’ve asked of you.”

“I swear to it, Lady Arya.”

Satisfied with his answer, she resumed her pace, seeking solace in her room.

Just as she did the last time.

* * *

“You can’t truly think my sister is in any danger, do you?” Robb asked curiously, the Stark heir’s hands having grown increasingly fidgety since a few moments ago.

Gendry exhaled sharply, his temper now resembling what everyone speaks of it being in King’s Landing.

“It’s the only thing I can think of that would be the reason. Arya says you’ve all grown to really rely on your wolves, that they sense things you don’t.”

Robb nodded his head at that.

“Aye, that’s true. Jon thinks we were meant to have them. It’s how he convinced our father to let us keep them.”

Gendry blinked back.

“He wasn’t too keen on his children possessing wolves, a rarity, I’m sure.” He joked. “Perhaps the old gods truly keep their believers in mind and sent them to you all.”

This realization made him make note of some adjustments that would need to be done to his marriage ceremony, should he get his wish and marry the girl of his choosing.

If she wanted their union to become whole before the old gods, then he would give that to her.

He would give Arya anything she asked.

Right now he just dearly hoped that she wasn’t in any harm.

Nymeria’s departure had set him off, but Arya was nothing if not formidable.

He pitied anyone who got in her way.

It’s why he’d been so alarmed in hearing that anyone actually made Arya weary enough to avoid them altogether.

“How soon after our arrival do you reckon we’ll encounter Lord Bolton and that son of his?” He asked, not having been able to stop thinking about the words he shared with the eldest Stark boys.

Robb shrugged, a tension to his shoulders as a result of the question.

It was then that Gendry thought of something else.

“And this letter, that he sent her, what did it say?”

At this point, he knew that he was brining up a rathe sore spot. But he couldn’t handle not knowing the entire story, there was much he needed to understand before he made it back to Winterfell.

Before he encountered this Ramsay Snow.

Robb shrugged again, this time his fists clenched.

“That’s the thing, we’re not entirely sure.” He revealed to him.

He was sure the confusion was evident across his face.

“What do you mean you’re not sure?” He couldn’t help but prod.

“The first one she read on her own, there was no intervention from our father, or Maester Luwin. By the time we’d learned that a letter is what had her so upset, she’d already tossed it into the fire and refused to tell us what it said. Only that she never wanted to receive another letter without someone reading it first.”

Gendry could scarcely believe what he was hearing.

That someone could have intimidated Arya to such a state.

There was an unexplainable anger in his stomach that was determined enough to settle there for the foreseeable future.

He couldn’t quite articulate the sentiments that had manifested within him.

To know that there was someone who made Arya weary enough to be anything other than who he’d come to know her as, made him livid.

It wouldn’t stand.

He refused to let it. 

* * *

Arya was becoming increasingly anxious as the day went on despite Nymeria having returned to her last night. She broke away from the others and howled at the gates of Winterfell demanding to be let in.

It was a great surprise to her, but one she welcomed more than anything in the world. Having her fearsome wolf beside her gave her all the strength she would ever need. 

The King and his hunting party had just made their way through the gates .

A prospect that just yesterday morning had delighted her.

Once they returned, Roose Bolton’s arrival would follow.

And that was something that no amount of training would ever prepare her for.

It had become increasingly difficult as time went on to explain the effect Ramsay had on her.

She often chalks it up to her age at the time she’d met him.

Only a girl of ten and four.

There were a great deal of things that she altered about herself after the circumstances.

No longer was she as naive as her life had led her to be, nor was she as care-free amongst any group of people as she once had it ingrained in her to be.

Ramsay took a girl fresh to the novice of tourney’s, a girl so eager to know more of what was outside of Winterfell’s walls and made her afraid.

Arya went through great lengths to conceal the truth of her training.

She knew full-well that upon seeing the sword strapped to her waist, most people in Westeros would be all too quick to laugh at her.

No one ever takes the threat of the blade attached to her seriously.

She counted on it.

Remembering her dancing master with great fondness, she felt the chills creep up the back of her neck at everything she’d endured in her training with him.

Syrio Forrel wasn’t a shy man, even less a dim one.

He knew there was an anger inside her from their very first lesson.

_“What do you run from, child?”_

_Arya heaved in anger. _

_“I’m not running from anything.” She bit out, tasting the lie in the words. _

_“I’ll make sure that’s true.” He told her, the promise so believable in his words. “Because what do we say to the god of death?”_

_She breathed shakily, drawing from every bit of strength she had left to believe the mantra he’d instilled in her. _

_“Not today.”_

She felt a surge of confidence at the memory.

Arya had trained for years, not just because of Ramsay, but for herself.

She wouldn’t be the girl who hides in her room ever again.

* * *

“You had a good hunt, I suppose?” Ned heard his wife ask.

“An eventful one, we’ll say.” He grumbled, not being able to mask the edge in his voice as he did so. There was a level of snark to him that was unheard of from those who knew him.

“Ned...” she led on.

He sighed heavily, the weight of what had been discussed in the wolfswood weighing on him heavily.

“Robert, has told me that the small council is growing concerned with maintaining Theon’s allegiance.” He treaded carefully, knowing that the words he was about to allow himself to say out loud would be painful to even contemplate. “They worry that as he’s a man grown, there might be a time where returns to Pyke and is swayed by Baylon, or his sister Yara to pursuit a route of glory, and make an attempt to go to war.”

“I have always said to never trust a Greyjoy, but you’ve done a fine job with Theon, if he’s to live the remainder of his days here at Robb’s side, what need would he have to pursue his father’s agenda?” She asked.

“Either way, Robert has told me of the small council’s interest in a match between Theon and one of our daughters, to ensure he remains loyal.”

Cat gasped at this, standing up so fast all the blood rushed to her head.

“_Ned_, you can’t.” She pleaded, her eyes so filled with worry. “Judging by the way things are going, it would appear that Arya will wed Prince Gendry, that leaves Sansa. Whatever you do, don’t let her go to the Iron Islands, I know he’s the King but you must refuse.”

He agreed.

“I have no intentions of ever letting a single one of my daughters step foot on the Iron Islands. Whatever anger follows, it does not matter, I will refuse.” He proclaimed, meaning every single word and cursing himself for not having killed the idea right then and there during the hunt.

His wife breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank the gods.” She whispered. “I cannot imagine either of our girls suffering such a fate. Sansa is best kept with her options open, should Arya marry the prince, that will procure some strong suitors. The same goes for Robb. We’ll need a match with a Northern house, perhaps Bran or Rickon would find such a match there in a few years time, when they’re ready. If only Arya would take matters into her own hands and make a choice.”

It would appear that Catelyn had given the marriage futures of their children some great thought. He tried to avoid such a line of thought as often he could.

He nodded minutely to her words, keeping them in mind.

There was one thing he knew, their family’s move to King’s Landing would change all their lives.

For better or worse.

* * *

“Your grace, I thought to have a few words with you.” Ser Arys called out softly to him after he’d given him permission to enter.

Gendry’s confusion was immediate.

“I do believe you’re meant to be guarding the Lady Arya.” He greeted his favorite of his father’s guards. His presence was missed on the hunt they’d just returned from.

“I had Ser Barristan take my place for a few moments, I needed to come speak with you.”

This sparked Gendry’s attention. He couldn’t remember the last time one of his father’s guards approached him with urgent matters. Any such talk was left to his father or Jon Arryn when he was alive.

Very rarely was he consulted by guards when it came to a matter of great importance.

“Speak freely, Ser Arys, as I always urge you to do.” He advised him.

“I would gather that you’ve become aware of the unwanted impending presence of House Bolton.” Gendry nodded at this, not at all surprised by it but very surprised that he’d become aware of it. “In the time since you’ve assigned me to protect Lady Arya, she has yet to request anything of me. But prior to your return from the hunt, she did request a couple things of me. Made me swear to her that I would speak nothing of it.”

“And yet, here you are clearly going against her orders. It makes me wonder, if I picked the right guard to protect her.” He wondered out loud, the irritation notable in his voice.

But Ser Arys was not deterred by his harsh words to him.

“I intend to keep my word to your princess, but know that this Ramsay we’re to encounter, she genuinely exercises caution around him. I saw it with my own eyes and while I’ve been commanded to reroute my allegiance, it doesn’t mean I possess any less towards you.”

His heart skipped a beat at Ser Arys’ words. Both at his use of words, calling Arya “his princess” and at what he chose to share with him.

He’d misjudged this situation entirely.

It was not a sign of disloyalty towards Arya, but rather a great deal of loyalty.

A loyalty she no doubt secured from Ser Arys on her own.

“What makes you say that?” He was afraid to ask.

Ser Arys shook his head adamantly.

“I swore I would not speak of it. But I think we all can see how much you care for her, it wouldn’t feel right not informing you of such circumstances. You ordered me to protect her and this may not be how you imagined me doing so, but I’ll do what I must.”

Gendry nodded at this.

“Yes, thank you Ser Arys, it is appreciated immensely, I assure you. Guard her well whilst House Bolton is a guest here.”

Ser Arys bowed at the command.

As he watched the gold cloak leave, he found that he was getting more unnerved by the second. And Arya’s reluctance to look him in the eye since he’d returned, wasn’t helping.

There was much he needed to prepare for before the Stark’s welcomed more guests it would seem.

* * *

Arya stood nervously in the great hall, knowing that there was no escaping the oncoming arrival.

But it didn’t matter because she was ready to confront this, once and for all. May the gods give her the strength to do it.

She could feel Gendry’s gaze on her from across the room, where he stood beside his father, in front of his mother and siblings.

Ser Arys stood tall behind her, which she knew would cause the most stares and talk to circulate.

The sound of heavy rustling drew her attention to the door, a rage flaring through her at the sight of Roose Bolton, with his son trailing closely behind.

She recalled too well what Jon had told her of him when they’d ridden to the Dreadfort to demand he control his son’s recklessness.

His forced reaction of disbelief at his son’s actions weren’t believed if her brother’s recollection of it was anything to go by. And that meant he was unbothered by Ramsay’s word of mouth. Any father who wasn’t at all concerned with a child having such rumors following him, was no man worth the time of day.

Her father smiled tightly, no real emotion on his face.

“Roose,” he greeted, extending his hand.

Lord Bolton bowed his head slightly, reaching for it in return.

“Lord Stark, always a pleasure, you know that.” His raspy voice spoke, an aura to the room that she couldn’t quite decipher.

Her father had never been on the same page as Roose Bolton, but it was known that the lesser lord at the very least respected her father—or at least was very good at pretending to.

They’d had their quarrels over the years. Namely the one where he went against flaying in the North.

A practice that was rumored to have been continued discreetly before her father outlawed it. He hit a nerve the day he did that and they say House Bolton has wanted revenge for it ever since. That his house’s sigil and words were rendered to be nothing more than a folktale that day.

“Allow me to present to you my good friend, and King of Westeros, Robert Baratheon,” he gestured to the King upon the dais in the great hall.

Lord Bolton bowed immediately, the rest of his party following his lead.

King Robert nodded his head at the level of respect he’s awarded solely for standing before him.

“An honor to bend the knee so formally, your grace.” Lord Bolton said standing once he was given the right to.

Arya forced herself to watch the exchange dutifully, hoping her curiosity did not betray her and looked towards the second pair of eyes now burning a hole into her skull.

She watched them make small talk, but patience wasn’t one of Ramsay’s atrocious strong suits. It wasn’t long till he wormed his way towards her.

Being as forward as she remembered him to be, wanting to recoil in disgust when he tightly grasped her fingers in his to bow before her.

“Always a sight for a sore eyes.”

His twisted form of delicacy, surely.

Several people looked her way now.

She felt Sansa grasp her forearm gently, Robb and Jon’s stance stiffened, their fists clenched tight.

She didn’t get the chance to wrench her hand out of his grasp.

“The Lady Arya does not wish to be touched, remove your hand at once.” Ser Arys demanded, stepping forward from his obscure position behind her.

Ramsay blinked back, a rage whirling in his eyes as he noticed it was a member of the Kingsguard who was acting out her wishes.

“A _Kingsguard_?” He wondered out loud. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you my sweet?” He said, his grip on her only becoming tighter.

Oh, she could hurl right then and there, on his disgusting mop of hair.

“The Lady does not wish to be touched.” Ser Arys repeated, his patience wearing thin.

“By me?” Ramsay had the nerve to ask, his offense taken loud and clear.

“By anyone,” her guard enforced. “Now mind your hands before I take it upon myself to do it for you.”

Ramsay was slow to do so, but at least released his hold on her.

She looked him right in the eye.

He wouldn’t best her, not in her home, not anywhere.

“My apologies, I meant no offense.” He tried to reason, but the anger he was feeling was evident.

It wasn’t till he turned and looked right at Gendry that a true wave of fear coursed through her.

She controlled her breathing, not missing the look of pure hatred in his eyes as he did so.

She chose to look at Gendry herself, a mistake she’s undoubtedly going to pay for.

Gendry’s gaze was hard but softened the second she set her sights on him.

Knowing her own body would betray her, she looked down, hoping to hide the blush that spread to her cheeks.

Judging by their huff of anger Ramsay emitted before returning to his place behind his father, she didn’t do a very good job.

She could only hope she didn’t come to regret this moment of weakness before week’s end.

* * *

Gendry’s palms we’re ridiculously sweaty, as though he’d been in the forge for hours.

Watching Ramsay approach Arya so boldly in front of everyone made his blood boil. He knew full well that he could lay no claim to Arya but he’d like to think he at the very least knew her well enough to discern the level of disgust on her face.

To know that he’d dare be so brazen given the disrespect he’s shown this family, couldn’t be allowed to continue.

“What’s gotten into you?” Myrcella asked him quietly, keeping an eye on their mother, knowing how important it was to her that they behave in such social settings.

He wondered if his mother would forgive him punching Ramsay right in the face.

Gendry gritted his teeth.

Ramsay’s showed no interest in hiding his disdain for him when he turned around to stand beside his father once more.

Not that Gendry felt inclined to care.

He knew that he was also faring poorly in concealing his anger towards Ramsay, getting a curious gaze from his father as a result of it.

Gendry didn’t know whether to stew in his own anger some more or take the time to be surprised that his father seemed to notice.

“I will have someone show you to your rooms, please do feel free to remain in my home for as long as you so wish.” Lord Stark interjected, cutting the tense moment short.

Lady Stark wasn’t far behind in interfering.

“Whilst we’re still here, of course.” She made sure to toss in. “Our family has been honored with a great opportunity.” She continued, her arms tightening around her husband’s.

Gendry fought to not smile so boldly at Catelyn Stark making such important information so cavalierly known. He’d heard of her rage when House Bolton showed up to Winterfell’s gates unannounced with expectations to be let in.

Perhaps his opinion of Arya’s mother would yet change.

Roose Bolton’s eyes lit up far too happily at such a revelation.

“I expected to be hearing as such.” He spoke, with a calm voice that masked his genuine feelings well.

It was at this time that Gendry felt it necessary to look towards Arya once more, her large grey eyes keeping him enthralled from across the room.

He noticed she stood tensely, a great deal of restraint shown on her part. Her face was furrowed, staring at her parents engaging with House Bolton angrily.

He selfishly hoped she would spare him another glance, but knew there were far more pressing matters on her mind. It didn’t stop him from his continuous awe of her.

Having been in Winterfell for a few days now, Gendry had grown accustomed to witnessing the variations in Arya’s wardrobe. He’d seen her in her breeches and tunics, simple dresses, and lovelier dresses like she’d worn the day of his formal arrival.

As she was wearing now.

The gray and light blue gown was elegant on her, allowing her to look every bit a high lord’s daughter. It was the fanciest he’d seen her since they’d rode through Winterfell’s gates.

She was as stunning now as she was then and it’d only been a mere number of days.

Myrcella elbowing him on his side tore his gaze away from it’s desired target.

She’d alerted him just in time, paying attention just as Lord Bolton, bowed before his mother.

“Do allow me to introduce my children to you,” she treaded. “This here is Tommen,” she gestured to his youngest brother at her side. “Then my only daughter Myrcella,” his sister smiled brightly, lighting up the stone walls of Winterfell’s interior. “Joffrey,” she pointed to his brother. “And—-“

“Our eldest, and my heir, Gendry.” His father intercepted, his mother spectacularly concealing her irritation at being interrupted.

Gendry moved forward, pleased that he stood taller than Lord Bolton and his son.

“The crown prince?” Lord Bolton asked dutifully.

He nodded, false wave of bashfulness at the attention on his face.

“An honor.” The older man spoke, bowing before him.

It escaped no one’s notice that Ramsay hadn’t bowed before him as he’d done his siblings.

Gendry felt a stirring of mischief whirl up inside of him.

“I do hope I’ve not offended you in some way.” He directed towards Ramsay, succeeding in catching him off guard by addressing him at all.

After a tense glare between father and son, he reluctantly bowed his head with a chuckle to clear the air.

“Not at all, my prince,” he spat. “It’s an honor, I assure you.”

Lie.

“I’ve heard so much about you. Your reputation for one so young is impressive. In fact, I had hoped to encounter you at a tourney by now. How unfortunate you’ve yet to compete.”

Truth.

Gendry chuckled at that. It’d been a poor attempt on Ramsay’s part to embarrass him.

“A fan of the tourney’s are you? Keep your chin up, I’m sure it won’t be long till you get your first win.” He pushed, being very familiar with the tourney circuit of Westeros despite having no desire to compete. “In any case, I’ve no interest in competing, I’m partial to my war-hammer, you see, and not many others wield such a weapon, let alone compete with one. As such, very few match my strength. Not unless this one here would love to give it another go.” He pointed towards his father.

His father cackled loudly.

“There’s that Baratheon boy I raised, eh? We’re a strong bunch, aren’t we, son?”

Gendry smiled at that, a rarity for him when it came to his father. He was just glad he was able to divert attention away from whatever Ramsay was trying to pull. Even if it was for only a moment.

“It’s likely I’d have matched against Ser Gregor Clegane by now if I competed, or his brother, and I know full well they’d have me easily beat.” He continued, showcasing his humility when it comes to combat. “No matter, there are more important things.”

“Yes, there are.” Ramsay agreed, and had the nerve to look at Arya as he said it.

Gendry’s fists resumed their clenched position, his knuckles no doubt turning white.

That he would speak with such freedom in front of his family and in front of her—it made him feel ill.

His mother charmingly cleared her throat and Lady Stark promptly took the cue.

“I’ll see to it that you’re shown to your rooms, and that we all might reconvene for supper this evening in the great hall.” Lady Stark spoke easily, with a true talent for settling tense situations, it would seem.

With that, the Bolton’s bowed once more before his parents and followed the lead of those who’d come to escort them to their rooms.

Gendry made sure to catch Ser Arys’ eye before he had a chance to be led away by Arya. He wanted to extend his gratitude for intercepting Ramsay earlier.

As the flood of people trickled out of the great hall, he felt a surge of relief.

Despite what he’d tried to convey to Ser Arys with his eyes, Arya seemed to be in quite a substantial hurry. She sprinted towards the door opposite the one everyone else was leaving towards and he was all too quick to follow her.

He’d just managed to get a hold on her before she could get her hand on the door.

Snaking an arm around the waist he whirled her around to face him.

“Now, where are you off to in such a hurry?” He told her, nothing accidental about how close their faces were. 

He felt her shudder in his arms and he couldn’t help but crave such a moment under more intimate circumstances.

Arya’s breathing was exasperated. As though she hadn’t been breathing enough and could finally inhale the way she needed to.

He gently gripped her chin with his hand, tilting till her gaze would meet his.

But he was taken aback by what he saw.

The girl before him, the fierce and fiery wonder he’d grown to admire both up close and afar, bore a look that he never wanted to see again.

A look of worry.

“Talk to me,” he whispered, a nudge with his thumb.

She tore her gaze from his once more, eyes wandering around the great hall of her home.

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” She grumbled, a stomp of her foot that caused him to smile.

“Then you’ll be delighted to know that I’ve got nothing but time.” He countered.

“Gendry—“ she tried, but he wouldn’t hear it.

“I have been going out of my mind this past day trying to piece together what I can only imagine is something truly awful. Your brothers haven’t been much help, even they’re in the dark as far as whatever you’re hiding from goes.”

“I’m _not_ hiding.” She vehemently spat out, jerking away from him so fast he could’ve hardly stopped her even if he’d tried.

Her stance was entirely closed off to him now.

It couldn’t be more clear that he’d said the wrong thing.

Given the current air between them, he felt it best not to mention Ser Arys’ cryptic words to him about the situation either. She was fuming enough and if Ser Arys was going to be productive at the task he assigned him to, he needed Arya’s trust in Ser Arys to remain intact.

Biting his tongue he tried to reach for her but his stomach sank when she only moved further away from him.

“Arya—“ he pleaded.

“Don’t.” She answered immediately.

He ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry, alright?” He tried, moving as close to her as she would allow. “It’s just your brothers said—“

“My brother’s are over-protective and paranoid.” She countered, trying to make light of what he’s heard. “There’s no reason they should be alarmed.”

Gendry whirled towards her, baffled at how she could try and shrug off everything he’d heard over the last day.

He narrowed his eyes towards her, not believing her stance of nonchalance for even a moment.

“That so?” He asked, getting closer with every step he took. “Because your brothers, over-protective as they might be—told a rather convincing story.”

“They had no right to bring it up to you to begin with.” She hissed, crossing her arms across her chest. “I have everything under control,” she whispered, her lips trembling as she did so.

Gendry’s eyes softened then.

“I know you do.” He agreed, visibly surprising her. “But you don’t have to do everything by yourself. And it’s okay to be worried, Arya. No one’s going to hold that against you.” He consoled her, finally making it close enough that he could reach out and hold her if he were to try.

“Gendry, it’s not that simple—“ she started to say, her frustration bubbling to the surface not soon after.

“Then make it so.” He begged. “Let me in,” he asked of her softly.

Arya looked up at him with her stunningly captivating gray eyes, behind of which hid so much that he could only hope she’d allow him to understand.

She sighed, relenting to his request.

“Fine,” she agreed. “But not here,” she told him, a new glint to her eyes. “Follow me.”

Arya grabbed his hand and rushed him out of the great hall.

Ser Arys stood taller upon their exit, pushing off from the wall he’d been pressed up against whilst he stood guard, Nymeria by his side.

She jolted beside him as they became alert.

“You three are becoming a pain in my arse, you know that?” She grumbled, letting go of his hand and leading the way.

“Yes, because I believe you just told us so, my lady.” Ser Arys told her in jest, a snicker escaping Gendry’s mouth as he did so.

“I’d watch it with those quips of yours, Ser Arys, lest you’re in the market to pay for them when we spar tomorrow?”

This surprised Gendry almost immediately.

He knew the shock at what she’d said had registered on his face when his favorite guard looked at him apologetically.

“You did say serve her as I would you, your grace.” He sheepishly told him.

Gendry huffed out a laugh at that.

“Quite the contrary, Ser. I believe your orders were to _guard_ her as you would me. I don’t recall saying anything about bending to her every whim.” He replied, making sure no real anger came across in his tone.

“Perhaps you should’ve thought of that when you assigned me to someone so vibrant, your grace.”

“In the minute and a half since we started walking, I didn’t disappear. You idiots know I can still hear you, right?” Arya called out to them from the leading pace she’d taken.

Gendry couldn’t help but be absolutely taken with her, even as she was insulting him. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before and he wondered if he would ever grow tired of her.

Unlikely, he realized.

Their pace was soon thereafter interrupted, when one of serving girls’ eyes brightened at having clearly located Arya.

“Your grace,” she curtsied immediately.

He nodded in acknowledgement, trying to ignore the smirk on her face at the sight of him.

“Lady Arya, Lord Bolton’s son is inquiring after you.” She revealed to her. And he didn’t miss for one moment the rigid posture she now held.

“Inquiring where?” She spat out, an anger to her that he hadn’t thought her capable of.

“He showed up at your room’s door while we were laying out your clothes for the feast tonight.I did as you told me, got one of the men to guard the halls, didn’t leave the girls there without protection.”

Gendry caught the look from Ser Arys, a look he undoubtedly shared.

It was one of confusion and curiosity.

He noticed Arya sigh with relief.

“Good,” she said after a while. “That’s good.”

“What is he doing near your rooms?” Gendry asked out loud, making no effort to shield the anger he felt coursing through his veins.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said immediately. “At least not for right now. Is he still there?”

The serving girl nodded quickly.

“Right outside your door, my lady. He thought we were lyin about you being there and is determined to wait.”

Gendry’s fury seemed to be increasing by the second. By what right would someone be so impossibly bold, in the house of their high lord. And with a Lord’s daughter? It was despicable.

“Excellent, let him wait. The prince and I will be in the godswood, if anyone from his family or mine—-_and only from them_—is to inquire. I’ll be back in plenty of time to change for the feast.”

The girl before them nodded vigorously once more.

“Understood, my lady, your grace.” She curtsied again, sprinting off after he smiled at her.

Gendry crept up closer towards Arya, and whatever nerves she had, she hid them remarkably well. He could almost believe that there was nothing troubling her at this very moment.

But her eyes told a different story.

* * *

“Where is Arya?” Ned asked tensely, his mood not being in the highest of spirits as of lately.

“If she’s smart, hiding out somewhere until the Bolton’s piss off into the wind.” Robb spoke, a snark in his son’s voice that he was unfamiliar with. “Preferably alone, that’s all we need, Arya running off with her prince somewhere unsupervised.”

“_Robb_—“ Catelyn scolded instantly, not being one to let such behavior as that pass her by, no matter how much she agreed with it.

And judging by the smirk she was fighting against.

She did.

“Apologies, mother.” His eldest relented, a faint blush on his cheeks at being so cavalierly reprimanded by his mother. Theon and Jon were hiding their own laughter at his expense.

He would always be grateful the three of them had each other.

No matter how much mischief they always managed to get themselves into.

“He’s not _her_ anything.” Sansa fought, her mood very much matching his own these days.

It was a rarity, Sansa usually found very little to be unhappy about in her daily life. It was no secret to say her largest source of grief was her own sister, and no lecture on his part has been yet to fix that.

A failure it would appear he’s destined to repeat.

Because the rift between his two daughters was to grow even greater now. And he doubted very much that there would be anything he could ever say that will be able to repair what little tenderness exists between them.

“Why are you so against our sister being happy?”

_Jon_.

Ned blinked in a stupor, shocked beyond belief that his nephew—no, his _son_—-would find it in him to speak directly to one of two people he avoided at all costs.

The other being his wife, who looked as shocked as he felt.

Despite the disdain for Jon that Sansa had learned from Catelyn, his other children did not share such sentiments.

The look of pure anger in Sansa’s eyes as she turned her eyes towards Jon, wasn’t one he ever wished to see again.

“This isn’t about her.” She replied tensely.

Jon huffed.

“Well maybe it ought to be.” He said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sansa fired right back, her hands clenching the sides of her chair.

“I’ve found her one too many times, broken, crushed, and downright tired.” He started. “Tired of the constant reminder that she’s no good, that she’s ugly, fit to be nothing more than a joke over tea between you and your ladies. And I’ve had enough of it. Whatever this is, with the prince, it could make her happy. I have watched her hide so much about who she is, about who she _wants_ to become, I won’t let her hide another damn thing.”

“Jon—“ he tried to interrupt, but it was no use, it was like the floodgates.

“And maybe this Prince Gendry is no good for her, but I’d sort him out should he be anything less than she deserves. And know that I’d do it for you too should your own intended not do right by you.”

The silence in his solar was deafening.

His daughter wasn’t one who took well to being humiliated.

Seeing as how little she’s ever faced such an emotion.

But there was no mistaking the look on his eldest daughter’s face.

He would be having his own conversation with Sansa when the time came and he thought it best not to pile onto what would inevitably be a very tiring conversation.

“We’ll leave that matter for tomorrow. That’s a talk you and I will be having, love.” He told her, making sure she knew how serious he was. If his father could see how some of his children didn’t get along, he’d have him by the neck for it.

His father was hardly one who’d let feuds between siblings brew and he felt ashamed at how many had formed amongst his own children.

He would put an end to it, at whatever cost before they departed for King’s Landing.

“As will I.” Catelyn interjected, directing her words towards the daughter that the gods crafted every bit in her image.

If Sansa was surprised at her mother’s input, she didn’t showcase it.

“Tell the girls in charge of Arya’s room that I wish to speak with them. She must have told someone where she was going and I don’t want her wandering with the Bolton’s under our roof.” He directed at his ward. “And Theon,” he said after a moment, “be discreet.”

Theon nodded promptly, carefully making his way out of the room.

“Father,” Robb called out to him. “What does this mean for us, you becoming the Hand of the King, Arya the future Queen…these are changes we could have never planned for.”

It saddened him just how right his son was.

“We’ll be in for a whirlwind of politics, that’s what.” Catelyn hissed, looking at their children with worried eyes—scared ones too.

“Your mother’s right.”He relented, leaning back in his chair. “Me taking this position, by the King’s side, and Robert being insistent on a union between our houses, that makes us seen. More than we’ve been in a long time.”

“Other’s will want unions with our house.” Bran realized.

Ned nodded at his brightest son’s intuition.

“If word’s gotten out, and if I know anything about the capital, it’s that it already has, then I surmise families all over Westeros are plotting. Should your sister wed the prince, Robb your presence in the capital for the wedding will be an eventful one.”

Robb tensed at that, but he hid it quickly and well.

“However, we’ll get to that once we’re well on our way. Right now, it would seem we have a more pressing matter at hand.” He concluded, just as a knock sounded at his door. “Enter,” he commended.

Theon led in one of the serving girls that was friends with Arya, a nervous look on her face, but not a look that worried him in any way for his daughter’s safety.

“She says Arya told her she’d be with the prince in the godswood.”

“Is that wise?” Robb practically shrieked. “I know he’s taken with her and all that but the godwood—_alone_?”

“Don’t forget Ser Arys!” Bran called out excitedly, making Ned smile. He knew how much Bran looked up to the knight.

“Oh yes, how could we forget a guard who’s new duty is to obey her commands.” Theon said.

“Get Jory and the other men to stand guard nearby.” He said.

“I’ll do it.” Jon spoke, a twinge to his voice that was hard and unyielding.

“Very well, I’ll see you all at dinner, where I expect any ill-tempers to be reigned in.” He told the three eldest firmly, knowing their tendency for the unexpected.

Even if the Bolton’s trembling under his roof has been a sight he’s been anxious to see for quite sometime.

He should be praying to the gods for an incident-free evening.

Or perhaps not.

* * *

Gendry had a great deal to be content with in that exact moment.

Arya had her hands wrapped his arm, as she led him into the godswood of Winterfell, a smile so eager on her face that he was counting his blessings.

He could almost forget the horde of questions he had thought of to bombard her with. And it would take all his might not to do so, but to let her disclose whatever she wished to at her own pace. He so very much wanted her to trust him—wholeheartedly.

It wasn’t long till Arya’s pace began to slow down and before he knew it, she’d led them to a full stop.

Before them was the largest weirwood tree he’d ever seen.

Amidst the lush green forest and large hot spring on the ground, the godswood of Winterfell was an ethereal backdrop.

The white bark of the tree and it’s red leaves were a sight to behold.

Turning towards Arya, the look on her face was so serene, that the godswood instantly became one of his favorite places even though he’d only stepped foot in it a mere moment ago.

_I want to marry her here one day. _

_If she’ll have me._

“Tell me about King’s Landing.” She spoke, so softly he had to take a spare moment to repeat her words to himself.

Gendry understood then that she was prolonging whatever it was she’d decided she would share with him. But if she needed that extra time before speaking, so be it.

He would give that to her.

“It’s…hot.” He said stupidly, cursing under his breath at providing an answer so void of any substance.

It made her laugh though.

And _oh_ what a sound that was.

“Is that all?” She joked, sitting them down on a log that overlooked a giant hot spring, right in front of the weirwood tree. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but my dad’s never much liked the capital. He calls it a ‘stinking shit pile’. And you if ever tell him I told you that, I’ll say you’re lying.”

Gendry wheezed.

“They do call your father one of the most honest men alive, and it’s nice to have proof of that for myself.” He said amidst his laughter. “Now, don’t tell _my_ father this, but I’m inclined to agree with yours on the matter of our capital.”

Arya blinked back.

“You don’t much fancy your home then?” She wondered curiously, the most adorable pout on her face.

Gendry pondered her question, never having been asked directly what he thought of King’s Landing.

“No one’s ever asked me that before.”

“Well _I’m_ asking you.” A nudge to his side with her elbow catching him off guard, leaving a more open space between them then before.

Gendry waged the options before him, quickly shuffling before he lost the nerve to do so. Turning to the side so one leg rested on opposite sides of the log, he tugged her closer so she was nestled between his thighs.

She let out a small noise at the movement, the sound quickly dying in her throat once she realized how close they rested now.

“Do you intend to answer my question, or are you planning on staring at me some more.”

Ser Arys’ almost exact words from before their trip to the village came to mind.

It would appear he was developing a rather recurring habit.

He looked towards the guard in question, standing near the entrance to the godswood, hidden in plain sight so as to not draw anyone to them. Arya had placed some of her father’s guards further out, one of them so discreetly placed that his sole purpose was to alert Ser Arys to anyone’s proximity to the godswood. 

According to her, they were more to watch out for her brother’s, than for Ramsay. Touting the lack of propriety in them being so secluded on their own, citing an inevitable earful from her mother. She seemed rather confident that Nymeria would warn her of any genuine unwanted presence heading their way.

Given how the large wolf reacted from the wolf’s wood during the hunt, he believed her every word.

“I think I’m quite capable of doing both, m’lady.” He joked, a glance to their hands that were just floating by each other. Neither one of them making the first move to grasp the other. “As for your question, I’d be dishonoring my people by speaking ill of them. They make the most with what they were given. And what they were given, thanks to my father and every other King in recent history, isn’t much. There’s much I would wish to change.”

Her face furrowed in confusion.

“Why don’t you?” She asked so simply, making his heart ache at the hopefulness of it all.

“My father’s advisors aren’t exactly men who prioritize the well-being of the smallfolk. And I’ve been deemed rather naive to even bring up the possibility of trying.” He said resentfully, a bitter taste in his mouth.

The whole lot of that small council was disgraceful. Save for his Uncle Renly, they were a group of unyielding, selfish men. Even the grand maester was one who sought his pleasures at the expense of others.

“And your mother, she’s no help?”

“My mother, blessed as she might be, is sadly more in line with my father’s council than she would rather admit. If she had my father’s ear, my grandfather would’ve been named the new hand, not your father.” He spat out, never understanding how his mother could be so blind to his grandfather’s unforgiving nature.

“No love lost there, I take it.” She mumbled quietly, her hand inching closer to his. 

“My grandfather is a hard person to love. My mother and my uncles will all tell you that. It’s hard to feel like he’s ever not evaluating what’s around him, even you.” He spoke calmly, as he’d been raised to whenever it concerned his grandfather, even if the talk wasn’t good.

His mother might not watch where she steps around many things, if any, but she undoubtedly minced her words and moved with precision when it came to her own father. Even his Uncle Tyrion, as free a spirit as he is, treaded carefully.

And if his own children hadn’t worked up the nerve to face him yet, he was reluctant to even try to muster any strength for it himself.

“And your siblings, how do you fare with them? Better, I hope.” She reasoned, changing the nature of their conversation to a much lighter one.

At the mention of his siblings, he knew he bore a large smile on his face.

“Save for Joffrey, all my siblings are incredible. Even the one’s my mother would wish I’d ignore. But Joff is the only one who follows her in that. Myrcella and Tommen get on great with Mya and Edric, much to the Queen’s horror.”

“Do you see them often then, Mya and Edric?” She questioned some more, not that he was going to complain. It felt good to share so much about his life with her.

“Edric not as much as I’d like. My Uncle Renly looks after him in Storm’s End. My father will usually have me write to him so he’ll ride down if we’re to go hunting, but not for much else. But Mya, she’s with the rest of us in King’s Landing, father’s orders. Has a rough go of it at court because she’s a bastard, but it’s less when I’m around. I won’t have anyone disrespecting my sister.”

Arya brightened at that, a mischievous look to her that he was beginning to really love.

“And then there’s Shireen, Uncle Stannis’ daughter, love her to bits, really.”

She hesitated before asking what most people ask when it comes to his younger cousin.

“Grayscale as a baby, right?”

Gendry nodded promptly.

Shireen was another one who had a rough go at court, it pained him greatly that his favorite people in the world were so harshly treated in the only home he’s ever known.

And should he and Arya marry, she was surely to suffer the same mistreatment from those in King’s Landing who had nothing better to do than speak ill of others.

It had to change.

Whatever it takes.

* * *

Arya frowned at the genuinely hurt look on Gendry’s face.

It’s without doubt the same look she has whenever Jon is mistreated.

There’s a cruelness to the world that won’t ever remedy itself no matter how many good people there are in the world trying to change it. If even Gendry, the future King, felt at a crossroads to change, what hope did anyone else have?

She thought of Rowena’s earlier words, 

_“You would be in a position to enact change, Arya. We talk about it all the time, women getting to choose for themselves what they deem important to their livelihoods. How stupid it is that girls aren’t taught to defend themselves. The way bastards are treated being disgusting, as if they have any say in being born. You could change all that!”_

Arya knew too well she was avoiding everything they came to the godswood to speak of.

But she couldn’t help when her plots would form in her mind.

She had begun to think of her relocation to King’s Landing with a more open-mind, contrary to her earlier attitude towards the move. As heartbroken as she was to know she’d be leaving Winterfell, there was little use in wasting whatever time she had left to deny the reality.

Her entire family save for her older brothers would be leaving and perhaps it was time she began viewing such a move as bountiful one instead of a damned one.

And that included attaching a union with House Baratheon to those thoughts.

“Shireen, does she visit court often? I’d very much like to meet her.”

A hopeful question, but a hope that was short-lived.

“Aunt Selyse isn’t fond of Shireen being at court, it’s why my Uncle Stannis has no position on the small council. She’s rather adamant against it. Shireen thinks it’s because her mother is ashamed of her. And while I wouldn’t give validity to those fears if my cousin stood before me, I think she’s probably right in her assumption.”

This only further spurned the thoughts running through her mind.

“No matter, I’ll change that.” She told him confidently.

Gendry’s eyebrow raised, a range of confusion that made her laugh.

“What are you up to in that head of yours, Arya Stark?” He told her, a look to him that left her in awe.

_“Oh Arya, it’s such a shame that with your circumstances you’ll never have someone look at you as though you were the moon and stars. You should spare yourself the troubles and marry Hodor.” Jeyne teased, Sansa’s giggles immediately following._

_Just like they always do. _

“Why do you look at me like that?” She whispered without meaning to.

“Like what?”

Arya struggled to find the words.

“No one’s ever looked at me that way, is all.” She mumbled, looking down towards her lap, avoiding the dependable blush of her cheeks. This time was different, she felt it all the way down her neck, on her chest.

Gendry cleared his throat, his face fidgeting till he settled on an expression he sighed in relief at.

“You were saying, m’lady?”

“I was just thinking, whilst I live in King’s Landing, I’ll have ladies of my own, won’t I?” She said, all sorts of possibilities running through her mind.

Gendry shrugged at this.

“Not if you don’t want any, you don’t have any here like your sister does. It’s unlikely my mother would implore you to have any. Unless you accept, of course. A Princess of Westeros will end up with a flock of ladies whether she wants them or not, as I understand it. Myrcella was barely a year old when my mother was getting letters from ladies in every kingdom hoping to establish a place for their daughter at court by making them serve as one of her ladies.”

She thought carefully about that.

There was a great deal of potential in establishing her own group of ladies in the capital. Should she accept, that is.

“Why do you ask?” He spoke again, a hopeful glint to his eye that made her heart ache.

It was strange, how much she wanted to say yes to him in that moment. It was bizarre and wild,a true change in her that she could’ve never prepared for.

But seeing Gendry, eyes wide, on the edge of the log they sat upon, she so desperately wanted to lean forward and press her lips to his, and never pull away.

Arya was beside herself with emotion.

It was overwhelming and new, but more important than both those things—it was _wonderful_.

She could not answer for why the words ‘_yes, a thousand times yes_’ wouldn’t come out of her mouth.

Arya let her nerves get the better of her, immediately turning away from his look of defeat when she shook her head.

“I think it’s time I tell you about Ramsay.”

* * *

Gendry could scarcely get a hold of himself.

They’d been in the godswood for a good while now and the amount of times he’s almost learned across the log and kissed her was embarrassing.

Get a bloody hold of yourself, he thought.

He was becoming so pathetically transparent even _she’d_ noticed something about the way he surely gawks at her. He never imagined he’d be this hopelessly taken by a girl, but there he sat.

But now, now he was attentive and entirely prepared to hear every word of what she had to say.

“There was a tourney in the Vale for one of Robin’s name day’s, I can’t remember which. Father doesn’t really travel to tourney’s anymore, but because they’d journeyed all the way from the capital to have this tourney from Jon Arryn’s seat, and he’s married to my aunt, my mother insisted he go. Robb, Jon and Theon were already planning to attend, but my father choosing to go, meant that I could go too.”

Gendry could almost laugh at that, if the tone of her voice wasn’t so laden with anguish. How many tourneys must she have tried to tag along to with her brothers, he wondered.

“And now?”

Arya’s eyes grew heavy with tears that she looked determined not to let fall.

“I wish I’d never gone.” She whispered so softly it made his heart ache. “My mother, has always claimed to never differentiate between me and my sister, it’s what she would always say to my face. But I heard her tell my father once, that I’m the only one she’s ever truly worried about, because I refuse to see the truth of our world. And she was right.”

Gendry shook his head immediately.

“No, that’s—Arya, that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” She pressed. “A girl of ten and four at a tourney, infuriatingly blind where it mattered most.” Her breathing was heavy, her hands fisted tightly within her dress that all the color had gone from them. “When I met Ramsay, he was—intrusive. He had this charm to him when he spoke that he surely thought was endearing, but it just made me feel ill. And when I refused him, that mask he wears, faded so fast that I hardly had any room to think. Once my brothers arrived, I put the matter behind me, but I was careless.” She recollected, each word harder to hear than the last.

“What do you mean?” He asked, not seeing where there was any room for carelessness in her story. She was a young girl preyed upon by an animal who knew no boundaries, what could possibly have gone awry from there?

The possible answer to that terrified him.

The actual answer made him feel sick.

“After that first day, I’d managed to avoid him. With great effort from my father. But I underestimated the aftermath of refusing him. Robb, Jon, and Theon know his character well, but I—I had no idea. So I carried on, like I usually did. Making friends with people that I shouldn’t, according to my mother, anyways. And I’d made friends with the son of some butcher in the Vale, when he wasn’t working, he’d spar with me, not properly. It was before I’d learned.” She spoke carefully, acknowledging his confusion of her mention of formal training, “I’ll explain.”

Arya released a shaky breath, a tear finally rolling down her cheek.

“I wasn’t exactly searching for Ramsay during the tourney, and to tell you the truth I’d forgotten all about him. But he must have seen me with Mycah at some point, that was his name, without either one of us noticing.” She clarified. “I didn’t see him again until we were leaving, when Roose brought Ramsay with him to bid us goodbye and to apologize again. And he was…happy. It didn’t make any sense, he was livid when I’d refused him, my brothers said he was insufferable the entire tourney because of it, but you’d never know it from the way he was acting. We’d been back here in Winterfell for a week when a raven addressed to me arrived. It didn’t have a seal I recognized but I opened it anyway and I wish—that I never had.”

This was the incident that Robb and Jon had told him about, the letter that she locked herself in her room over.

“It was a raven from Ramsay, the paper was sticky, and something had fallen out of it when I unrolled it, opening the parchment had left my hands dirty with what looked like crusted blood. He’d written to tell me—that I should’ve been more considerate of his…advances, and not have been so eager to _lay with a dog_ _like the butcher’s son_ becauseI made him do something to—teach me a lesson.” Her voice was strained and harsh, in a way he’d yet to her it be. “The thing that had fallen out of the note, was a piece of skin. Mycah’s skin. The blood crusted on the paper was his. Ramsay killed him, just for talking to me. And for refusing him.” She finally said, her body slouching almost immediately, as though the weight of that secret was hurting her where she sat.

And from the broken look on her face, he thinks it was.

He’d never felt such kinship to the words of his father’s house than he did in that moment.

“_Arya_—“ he tried to speak, and failed.

The tears fell freely from her face now.

It was a sight he hoped to never see again for as long as he lived.

“Are you sure he killed him? Maybe—“

“I’m positive,” she bit out. “My father received a raven that same week telling him they’d found the body and if he or any of us knew something about it, if we saw him having trouble with someone at the tourney. I said nothing, because if he could do that to a stranger, there was no telling what he’d do to my brothers the next time they crossed paths. I didn’t want to chance it.”

He understood her logic in that.

Ramsay was entirely beyond reason if he would kill a man for merely being in her presence.

“Hey,” he spoke to her gently, “look at me.”

Arya’s hands trembled between them, stunning him by taking his hand in hers as she turned to look at him.

“His death, Mycah’s, that wasn’t your fault. I need you to understand that because it’s the truth.”

He was so sure her resilience would appear even in a situation like this but she only surprised him further when she nodded along with his words.

“He’s sick, I’ll have him hanged for this.” He hissed, the harshness to his voice surprising even himself.

Arya’s hand tightened around his.

“_No_, you won’t. I forbid it.” A resurgence of strength from her. “_When_ Ramsay pays for everything he’s done, it’ll be by my blade. The man who passes the sentence, should swing the sword.”

Gendry felt a great surge of pride course through him.

And like he supposed he ought to get used to doing, he relented, not being one to fear her mischievous ways.

“In that case, m’lady, I would be honored to stand by your side.”

* * *

“And just where have you been?” Jon bombarded her with, the moment she stepped foot within the castle walls.

Her shock must have shown at the tone of his voice because he instantly softened to appear less combative.

“None of your business.”

“Is that right?” He asked, his facade of calm washed away so fast she barely saw it. “The godswood—_alone_?” He pressed, only managing to irritate her more.

“You _know_ I wasn’t alone, that is after all, the only reason you’re badgering me about it.” She fired back, seeing right through the small talk he was failing at inciting.

“Aye, that might be, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re hardly of the age to be off alone with him. And without telling anyone, no less.”

Arya halted her purposeful steps, realizing they were far enough from the entrance now that she wouldn’t run into Gendry again once he’d entered from the godswood. She knew the likelihood of someone being at the entrance to overwhelm them and gratefully thought ahead enough to be the one that whoever was stupid enough to be waiting for her, would meet. The _only_ one.

“I have my reasons for not wanting anyone to know, and they’re not the one’s you’re thinking of.”

If she weren’t so nervous for what lied ahead, she would’ve certainly laughed at incredulous look on her brother’s face.

“Arya—“

“I know now what to do, what I _want_ to do, and I wasn’t going to risk anyone trying to stop me from getting there on my own.”

This softened Jon abundantly. He was her biggest supporter, no matter what she did. Insinuating he would’ve tried to ever interfere with something she truly wanted, was as much an insult as striking him across the face would be.

“Hey, I trust that you know I wouldn’t do that.” He told her earnestly before continuing. “But this thing with you and the prince—“

“Is mine to figure out.” She intervened, not shying away one bit as she looked the person who knew her better than anyone right in the eye.

“And have you? Figured it out, I mean.”

Arya was surprised at how little conflict she felt within herself when he asked that.

For the first time since this entire ordeal started, she felt like she finally knew how she felt. How she _truly_ felt.

And she was in it for the long-haul.

* * *

The atmosphere around the great hall was tense.

There was very little worthwhile discussion and far too much going unsaid.

And what _was_ being said was as inconsequential as it was indicative.

Gendry feared that the longer the silence continued, the greater the confrontation would be.

It seemed as though there were several groups quarreling amongst themselves but without actually revealing as much.

Arya sat to his left, as his guest, on the dais of the great hall, much to Ramsay’s displeasure. Which might’ve factored in just the smallest bit in why he made this the seating arrangement.

The rest of the table was made up of his parents, his siblings and Lady Stark.

Lord Eddard had taken a seat with Roose at one of the other tables so as to not provide any offense.

“Perhaps Arya sitting here wasn’t such a good idea,” Myrcella muttered under her breath. She sat on his right, as poised as his mother had raised her to be, despite the glare from Ramsay toward their direction.

Gendry was surprised at the growl that escaped him.

“She’ll sit wherever she pleases and he’ll deal with it.” He hissed.

He’d come to regret the tone he took instantly, for the look on his sister’s face wasn’t one he ever wished to be responsible for causing.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, hoping he hadn’t alarmed her too much.

“Is it true what they say, that he’s here to ask for Arya’s hand?” She whispered.

Gendry felt the blood in his veins run cold.

“Where’d you hear that?” He hushed, hoping that Arya wouldn’t be able to hear, taking advantage of the fact that she was currently conversing with his mother. 

“The ladies gossip, you know.”

“You mean _your_ ladies gossip.” He refuted, trying to add some ease to their conversation.

“Very well, my ladies do, but so do many others, including the girls who work in this castle. Plus, I had a few words with Robb and he held back none of his ill will towards Lord Bolton’s son. It wasn’t hard to piece together. Any maester from the Citadel could’ve seen it.”

“And I’m sure this is the moment where you give your unsolicited expertise on the manner.”

Mycella laughed, rather impolitely their mother would say.

“I would hardly claim to be an expert on such matters, Gendry. Mother doesn’t think any man in the world is good enough for me, so it’s unlikely I’ll ever gain any more knowledge on it than I currently possess.” She told him bitterly.

Gendry sighed.

He knew how much it weighed on her to be their mother’s only daughter.

Their mother lovedthem all immensely, but Myrcella, was very special to her and he’d be rather surprised if his sister ever did get betrothed.

“She’s right, you know.” He told her earnestly, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

“I’m sure there’s no shortage of men for her to choose from. Not in King’s Landing, anyway.” Arya interjected, catching him by surprise.

He smiled as he always did upon hearing her voice.

“True as that might be, whether she’ll ever be allowed to choose between them, is another matter entirely.” He told her, the unease at that reality evident on her face.

“In any case, your sister is smart, should she get the chance, I have no doubt that she’ll choose wisely. There’s a lot of that going around,” she threw in.

Gendry’s curiosity was peaked.

“Have you recently chosen wisely, m’lady?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.” She proclaimed proudly, a confidence to her that was new and intoxicating.

He knew it was naive of him to think it had anything to do with him, but he could hope.

And hope he did.

* * *

Arya’s conversations with the queen were small but informative.

She noticed almost instantly that Queen Cersei is rarely ever at ease in a social gathering. Her eyes are alert, always watching.

Even when she was fully immersed in conversation with her, or one for appearances sake with her husband, she’s never not paying attention.

“You and your sister would do well in the capital, such beauties shouldn’t remain hidden up here forever.” She spoke after a while, a phase of silence having followed whatever words she exchanged with the King.

“I fear I won’t know how to manage the people there.” She revealed truthfully, a rare moment of vulnerability for her.

The Queen scoffed at that.

“My dear, that should be the least of your worries. Our capital is a place filled with people who only care about one thing—power. And as the daughter of the new hand of the king, you’ll have obtained more power in a fortnight than most have managed to get in a lifetime. A power that while useful, is one you should never attempt to weild against my blood.” She advised, or rather threatened.

Arya raised her head high, hearing her words, but holding no real fear at hearing them.

“Do you fend off attacks against your family often, your grace?” She asked her, almost admiring the relative ease to her threat.

“It’s been a while since anyone tried. My father made sure of that.”

Arya remembered Gendry’s words when he spoke about his grandfather, not even trying to hide the love he didn’t bare for the man.

It’s what worried her most about the illustrious Tywin Lannister.

If his own grandson didn’t trust him, what would the rest of Westeros say about him?

All she could muster was a weak smile.

But the Queen’s smile was wide as she took a sip of her wine.

She’d made her point and it’d been heard loud and clear.

Before she could turn towards Gendry her father approached the table, Lord Bolton in tow.

“Your grace, while I have advised against him doing this here, he’s rather insistent.” Her father spoke, a hard look in his eyes.

A look that was beginning to worry her.

King Robert nodded, signaling Lord Bolton to speak.

She looked to the tables on the floor of the great hall, noticing Ramsay sitting on the edge of his seat.

“Your grace, I cannot even begin to explain the honor I feel to stand before you,” he began.

It was all Arya needed to hear before she realized how insincere he was.

“I’ve had my cups, but not nearly enough for that. Get on with it, will you?” The King said, drowning the rest of his goblet.

Gendry sighed heavily beside her.

“Father.” He advised, a tension to his voice that was evident even in his posture.

Lord Bolton raised his hand, signaling he took no offense.

“Understood, your grace. I was hoping I could speak to you about my boy.”

Arya swallowed harshly, feeling a warmth wash over her when Gendry reached under the table and grabbed her hand.

A habit of his she was becoming fond of.

“Aye, what of him?” He asked 

“I think that Lord Stark here will attest that I have been a faithful servant, both to him and to you, to the entire realm even. So I’ve taken it upon myself to ask if your grace would have it in his heart to legitimize my son.”

Arya’s breath caught.

King Robert glanced wearily at Cersei, and then at her father.

“I take it you’re aware that I don’t hand out legitimizations so cavalierly. I have bastards of my own that haven’t received that courtesy. I leave the consideration of such matters to my small council. The proper course of action would’ve been to send a raven to my hand.”

The rest of the noise in the great hall had gone eerily quiet.

Everyone’s conversations were no longer being had. They were all privy to the King’s matters now, whether they wanted to be or not.

“I have half a mind to think he only dared ask now since word reached him of the new hand you’ve chosen, father.” Gendry spoke harshly.

A clang rang out in the room, her hand tightening around Gendry’s as a result.

Ramsay was standing now, his plate and goblet forgotten on the floor.

His eyes held a look to them that sent a shiver down her spine.

There was a time where she would’ve been afraid of such a gaze.

But no longer.

“If I may, your grace?” Ramsay spoke cooly, despite the glare on his face telling a very different story to his current temperament.

She felt Ser Arys move closer behind them, where he stood guard.

King Robert beckoned him closer.

“Say your piece, boy.”

“The prince is right, my father did only dare ask now that our Warden will be your new hand. But I must confess, he does so at all because he grew tired of my begging. For years I’ve pleaded that he write to you, I seek the hand of someone special, your grace. And it is someone I’ve no chance to approach for I am—beneath—her station.” He spoke freely now, a bitter twinge to his last few words.

Arya’s hand was drenched at this point.

_No_.

He can’t mean to do things this way.

“And who is this girl, eh?” King Robert questioned.

Ramsay turned to look right at her, daring toget as close to her as the table and dais between them would allow.

“I’ve been after the Lady Arya Stark for quite some time, I ask that you legitimize me so I can ask her father for her hand.”

She couldn’t believe it.

That Ramsay would be so brazen as to pull a stunt such as this, was—it was as ridiculous as it was worrisome.

“And what say the Lady Arya?” The King asked her now, his red face featuring a look of confusion.

Arya looked around the great hall, at her brother’s raging faces, their fists clenched tightly around kitchen knives.

Her father, looking so filled with sorrow that it made her chest ache.

At Ramsay’s face, etched with that gods forsaken smirk, as though he finally managed to trap her in the box he’d been looking to place her in since he met her.

And finally, she looked towards the man who sat beside her. A person who’s every element filled her with a rush. He was tense, and angry, no—furious.

If only he knew that his anger was unwarranted.

Because she had no intentions of letting Ramsay win this evening.

This wasn’t how she was intending to settle her matters, but the gods will have their will, and it would seem that this way would have to do.

Arya smiled cruelly.

“I’m afraid I cannot accept such a _touching _offer, Ramsay.” She spoke carefully, taking a deep breath before continuing, ignoring the look now on his face.

“And why is that?” He spat, his resolve holding on by a sheer thread, and she was about to cut it loose.

“You’re too late.” She began, making no sudden movements save for squeezing Gendry’s hand for comfort. “I’ve already received an offer for my hand—from the crown prince.” She revealed, enjoying every moment of disbelief in his eyes.

Leaning back in her chair to look upon him better, meeting his gaze purposefully.

“And I've accepted.”


	7. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh writer’s block, you fickle queen. BUT I UNBLOCKED IT, I’M BACK ON THE FLOW, LET’S DOOOO THISSSSS. This is the second to last chapter in Winterfell, one more and then we’re hitting the Kingsroad, ya’ll. Also a smidgen of bent canon in this when it comes to Greywater Watch, the seat of House Reed. It’s said in the books that raven’s can’t find it and only certain people know how to track the location but we’re uhhh gonna pretend for the story’s sake that Ned knows how, lmfsksks.

Gendry could barely believe the moment he was experiencing. 

The silence in the room was deafening. 

But it only lasted a short moment because a loud onset of cheers erupted almost immediately after. 

His father was spilling wine all over the place as he rushed to engulf him and the small brunette who’s trembling hand was encompassed within his. 

It all happened so fast he’d forgotten the spite that was catapulted towards the man who caused the commotion in the first place. 

Ramsay’s rage was visible to anyone who stood in his path. 

His eyes darkened in his direction and he was ready to admit it was unsettling to him. 

But he didn’t care. 

He couldn’t care, not when Arya just announced to her family and his—that they were betrothed to marry. 

His mother’s gaze was harder to read, but in her eyes, he saw the truth. The truth of her happiness now that his own was all but guaranteed. 

“So tell me, son, how’d you tame a mighty she-wolf of the North, eh?” His father asked beligerently, taking Arya’s presence before him of zero consequence.

“Who’s to say I didn’t tame him?” Arya spoke freely, an ease to her now that filled him with relief. 

His father laughed heartily at her suggestion, not in the least bit offended at her words, instead he was amused. 

“Oh, you will do just fine.” He beamed, surprising those who stood around him. 

“A toast then, my love?” His mother encouraged, a gentle hand on his large form, turning his gaze towards the rest of the hall. 

His father was in such spirits that he didn’t shrug her hand off as he’d grown up accustomed to seeing. 

“To the future of Westeros.” He raised his wine goblet, the entire room following suit. 

Arya leaned into him, an attempt to hide the redness of her cheeks. And he cherished so deeply the freedom in which she was able to do so. 

Their families toasted to their now very public upcoming union, only one group of people the lone one’s to not be celebrating amongst the rest. 

“It appears you’ve bested me.” Ramsay admitted slyly, a sinister look to him that put Gendry on edge. “It truly is a pity that we’ve never met in a tourney, your grace, but I suppose in light of the mood, there is always the future.” 

Gendry scoffed, his grip on Arya tightening by the second. 

“Is that a threat, Bolton?”

Ramsay’s anger only further edged on as he stood before them.

It gave great comfort and he knew for Arya as well, as Ser Arys neared closer to them behind them.

* * *

“Arya, we’ll be having word’s about this.” Her father told her, cornering her outside the entrance to the great hall, an unreadable expression on his face, one that scared her but above all—unnerved her. 

“I understand.” She relented, following Gendry as he whisked her away from their own festivities.

It seemed as though he was leading her towards the end of the earth because no matter how many corridors they passed, he didn’t stop.

“Gendry, where—“ she was prepared to argue, the words dying in her mouth as he silenced them with a kiss.

Almost immediately a whimper followed, her arms hanging haphazardly at her side, having never been in such a situation.

Gendry’s large body pressed hers against the wall, the gray stone cool against her back but providing some much needed structure to her awkward stance.

The man who’d invigorated her entire soul pulled away gently, a weary glance to him, his forehead gently leaning against hers.

“Should I not have done that?” He whispered nervously, refusing to meet her gaze.

If her heart would stop trying to pound it’s way out of her chest, she might be able to hear her own thoughts.

They were right on the cusp of her tongue, she just wasn’t sure they’d come out as eloquently as she could only hope for them to.

So she did the next best thing.

* * *

Arya Stark was kissing him.

She had her tiny hands grasped tightly on the lapels of his jacket, her lips pressed firmly against his, the smell of her invigorating every part of him.

Her hands loosened, gently relaxing and resting against his neck, the soft sounds she was emitting setting his skin on fire.

Gendry pressed her slender form up against the wall, deepening their unbreakable kiss, swallowing the yelp she let out at his show of force.

Reluctantly but not without reason, he pulled back, once more resting his forehead against hers.

“You’re completely mad, you know that?” He told her, a beaming smile working it’s way onto her face.

“I hope you know I take that as a compliment.”

He laughed promptly, expecting nothing less from the brunette currently in his arms that he so often lacked the words to describe.

“Did you mean to do that back there, for reasons other than to evade Ramsay? I won’t have you tie yourself to me just to escape him, Arya. Not if it’s not what you truly want. We can work something else out if you so wish.” He offered immediately, knowing that as spectacularly he felt over the recent events, that she was put in an impossible position before his family and her own.

He desired nothing more than to marry her, to build a life with her, one he had all the confidence in the world would be one they could both be happy in, but not if the price is her freedom.

The incredulous look she had towards him spoke wonders.

“Of course I meant to do that, Gendry.” She breathed out, from the sounds of it, exasperated that he’d suggest otherwise. “In the time since you’ve come to know me, did you honestly think I’d ever do something I didn’t want to do?”

He sighed in relief.

“No, I can earnestly say that I didn’t.”

Her expression turned soft.

A rare moment to catch her in and one he would cherish forever.

“Then why would you ask me such a thing?” She whispered, her hands cupping his face gently.

He thought long and hard before he could give her an answer. There was a fear he had that she might see his questions as doubting her intentions, a slight that he knows she wouldn’t take kindly.

“I know that Ramsay put you in such an awful position, asking for your hand before your entire family, before my family, the King, he dared to be so presumptuous as to ask my father directly to marry you, there are Lord’s who fought beside my father in the war who’d never attempt such a thing—“ he stopped himself, his anger getting the better of him. “I don’t doubt your choices, Arya, but I just want to be certain that you want this—-want me.”

“I’d already decided to marry you, stupid.” She grumbled. “This wasn’t how I’d intended to tell you, but I think it worked out quit well.”

“And how did you intend to tell me?” He asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Well I had a few demands I was going to make to your father.”

This made him laugh loudly.

“You were going to speak to my father? I’m fairly certain it was supposed to be the other way around.”

“Yes, but that wasn’t going to stop me from being heard.”

“So tell me, what did you plan to demand.”

“No bedding ceremony for starters.” She said immediately, inciting a coughing fit in him. “I won’t have men undressing me on my wedding day. My father forbid it when he married my mother and I expect the same.”

Gendry tried to ignore the heat coursing through his veins at the mention of a bedding coming from her, her chest heaving not doing anything to quell it.

It was surprising to him that she’d thought so far ahead.

Nevertheless, her first request was a logical one. And one he agreed with in full. He’d been witness to far too many crude bedding ceremonies at the behest of his father, who very much enjoyed the spectacle of it all.

But he wouldn’t get that satisfaction for his wedding, he wouldn’t allow it.

“Thought that far ahead, have you?” He teased, giving her mid-section a gentle squeeze, enjoying the slight flinch she made at the sensation.

Her gaze lowered to stare at his lips, causing him to reverently lick them, the unyielding stare making him nervous.

“You’ve given me no reason not to.” She said, her voice sultry, pausing for just a short moment before she leapt forward to press her lips to his once more.

Gendry was taken aback again, pulling her towards him by the waist, her every curve molding against his chest.

That’s how small she was, almost her entire torso fit against his chest perfectly.

Emboldened by her reactions towards him, Gendry softly lifted her off of her feet, smiling at the small squeal she let out as he did so.

Her weight in his arms was perfectly distributed, having a solid grip around her entire body.

Their kisses grew rampant and heated, her hands moving to grasp the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging gently at the handful.

He groaned loudly, his tongue instantly coming out to press against her lips, all but begging for entrance.

Gendry growled as her mouth opened, his tongue meeting hers.

“You are...breathtaking.” He uttered in between kisses, his hands never staying in one place long.

Arya only moaned softly in response, her grip on his hair growing tighter by the second.

Gendry began pressing kisses to her jaw, determined to make a trail down her neck but they both straightened at the sound of armor clanging down the hallway.

Rushing forward again, forehead pressed against hers, Gendry placed one more chaste kiss on Arya’s swollen lips, vowing to cherish the way her eyes closed as he did so forever.

His chest was heavy at the sight of Arya rearranging herself so her appearance was in order once more. If he has it his way, they’ll have several more moments just like these.

“You best hope that’s not one of my father’s guards.” She whispered to him, twisting her gown so it’s lined up properly.

Ser Arys appeared down the hall before he could wager a guess, a rush of relief coursing through him.

“Well that’s infinitely worse.” Arya groaned, a visible tightness in her arms as she no doubt willed her hands not to fidget with her appearance any longer, lest it give them away.

Although judging by Ser Arys’ shit-eating grin, it was rather obvious what they’d been made.

“The King has ordered you two be escorted to your rooms—separately.”

Gendry blinked back.

“My father practically drowned himself in a pitcher of wine on our way out, you will have a hard time convincing me that he ordered anything other than more wine. So why don’t you try that again.”

Ser Arys relented almost instantly.

“Very well, it was The Queen’s orders, and judging by how I’ve stumbled upon you two, it would appear mother’s do indeed know best.”

Gendry huffed, reaching out to take Arya’s hand in his and attempted to lead them down one hallway before she tugged him in the opposite direction.

“I need to get Nymeria from the kennel. Dinner’s over and she sleeps in my room.”

Gendry began to ponder something he wouldn’t dare say out loud but as was usually the case, Ser Arys’ shame knew no boundaries.

“Will you keep her in your chambers once you’re married?”

He hissed at the brazen nature of such a question. But Arya had perfected her habit of surprising him by answering it.

“That depends on my enemies.” She said calmly, leading through the halls of Winterfell, eventually getting them to the kennel’s.

Arya greeted the man in charge of them, a soft thank you once he opened one of the gate’s.

“Have many of those, do you?” Ser Arys continued to press.

Arya leant down to pet her direwolf, pressing soft kisses into her fur.

“Time will tell.”

* * *

“That was quite a show you made last night, sister.” Robb teased, a knowing smile directed straight at her.

Arya tried not to smile back, knowing it wouldn’t sit well with her parents who’d brought her before them for the more serious nature of the discussion.

“If I don’t put Ramsay in his place, who will?” She retorted simply, her neck craning to look up at him, as she was used to doing.

“As long as that wasn’t all it was.” He told her more earnestly, frustrating her to no end.

She knew that he meant well, and Gendry did too when he’d asked her the same thing, but it was becoming increasingly irritating to know that they doubted her intentions.

It was unlikely they were the only one’s.

“Robb.” Her father spoke firmly, not needing to say any more for his message to get across.

Her brother stood straighter, moving towards the door, but first giving her a gentle squeeze on the arm. He knew more than any of her siblings, how intimidating their parents could be when one had to face them alone.

“Don’t let them make you second-guess yourself, eh?” He told her, before finally exiting their father’s solar.

“Arya—“ her mother began, with a loud sigh of exasperation.

“Mother, can I at least take a seat?” She told her, trying not to song as annoyed as she really was. It wouldn’t help the conversation for her to begin so prepared for argument. Least of all now, when her parents’ concerns were warranted.

She understood what she’d done by agreeing to the Prince’s desire for her hand. What it meant for her family.

Which led her to another qualm altogether, the genuine fear of the unknown.

While a larger part of her than expected was whole-heartedly eager for her union with Gendry, the other, far larger part of her was terrified. Not only for herself but for her family, for her kingdom.

It was a long time since the North was as influential as they were on the brink of becoming.

The last time such stars were aligned, a war was started.

It wasn’t just her future union that was changing their lives, her father becoming hand to the king was the more grandeur change.

Had it just been her the King’s party had come to retrieve was one thing, her father being included meant everyone would be affected.

Her own impending change just altered all of it even more.

“Do I need to ask you if you’re sure about what you’ve done?” Her father started, taking a seat in his chair, the exhaustion already having begun to set in on his features.

Her father looked tired.

Scared.

She utterly loathed it.

“You just did.”

This got a reaction out of him, the one she’d been hoping to get.

She was always glad when he was amused by her, it was something she cherished about their relationship.

“Young lady, now is not the time for jokes. You’ve just agreed to become the next Queen of Westeros, do you have any idea what that will entail? Not only for you but also for this family?”

“No mother, I dared not think this had the slightest bit to do with me.”

“Arya—“ her father chastised, getting her to instantly reel in her wit.

She gasped innocently, “she just makes it so easy, what else am I to do with myself?”

She was stalling, and she was nearing the end of her rope.

“Of all my children, you have been the one I’ve always...wondered the most about.” He told her honestly, having chosen his words very carefully. “Robb’s future has been set since the day he was born and I knew Jon would never stray too far from him. Your sister gave me some worry for a time but I soon realized there were few scenarios out of all the possibilities that she’d be unhappy with. Sansa understands this world more than you think she does.” He advised, his hand fiddling around with his facial hair. “Bran is content to train and aspire towards becoming a knight, or seated in a holdfast, perhaps both. Rickon might be your rival for the unforeseen path, but he’s too young for me to tell.”

She laughed at this, her wild little brother, with an anger in him that not even he understood.

“But you, I have never been able to agree with myself on a life you’d live. Every scenario I always came up with never seemed quite right. You’ve managed to surprise me, love, I can truthfully tell you that this life, is not one I even considered entertaining. Not for you.”

There was a ringing in her ear, an unease settling within that disappeared as quickly as it had made itself known once her father finished what it was he needed to say.

“And yet I cannot even begin to tell you how much I think you’ll excel at it.”

The tears begun to well in her eyes, the hands she’d fisted in her dress, loosening.

“I’m going to ask you now, and I want you to speak true—did you accept Prince Gendry’s hand genuinely?”

She nodded immediately and frantically.

“I did.” She simply answered, having heard this question for the third time now. “I swear it. I could not bare it, being with a man who was not by my own choice.”

Her father looked at her, studied her every expression and movement, not being one to have ever been fooled by her.

Amused by her character, absolutely.

But fooled?

Never.

He leaned back in his seat, extending a look towards her mother, one of noticeable interest to her.

“Very well, then.” He told her, beginning to almost immediately make note of it amongst his papers.

Jotting down things he’ll surely speak to her of at a later time.

There was an expectation in the air, that she was getting eager to appease.

“Well, this throws the preparations all up in the air, there’s so much to do.” Her mother worried out loud, her skirt flowing behind her as she whirled around her father’s desk to sit by her side. “I‘ll need to speak to Septa Mordane there are things she must teach—“

She jumped at the chance.

“Actually, that’s one of the first things I wish to speak with you about. I no longer wish to be taught by her.”

Her mother’s mouth gaped open, and she realized how surprised she was. Despite having already shared with her how inadequate her long time Septa makes her feel.

Even her father’s brow’s furrowed in confusion.

“Sansa and I are past the usual age for a Septa, are we not? I know ours has remained to teach us up until we’re to be married, but this is different. What I’m undoubtedly expected to learn now, I would rather it not be from her.”

Her mother was about to object to the request, she could tell.

Her displeasure at what she was asking was written all over her face.

Even after she’d expressed why Septa Mordane filled her with such dread.

As per usual, her father thankfully intervened.

“Very well, I’m sure the Queen will have recommendations of her own in this matter regardless, perhaps it’s a matter best suited to resolve once we’re in King’s Landing.”

The look he tossed his wife’s way, signaling that his decision was not up for debate.

She refrained from smiling in her mother’s face. There was far too much changing already, she wasn’t going to risk agitating their situation any further by beginning a quarrel with her mother.

Even she wasn’t going to let tensions running high on the trek to the capital.

Her mother however, did not have the same reservations.

“You’ll be expected to maintain a group of ladies, they’ll be essential to your life at court.”

She nodded promptly because this was something she had given some thought to.

“I have some ideas, that I’ll be keeping to myself for now. But I was hoping you’d help me with one person I had in mind, father.”

Her mother’s nerves were instantly on display for her to see. The fear at the company she had in mind to keep was likely to give her a headache for weeks to come.

“Who?” Her father inquired, a quill in hand, ready to jot it down.

“I’d like you to write to Lord Reed, see if he’d be amenable to parting with his daughter.”

“Meera Reed?” Her mother asked, surprise evident, and maybe even a hint of being impressed.

Arya nodded.

“I’ve always gotten along well with her, since we were girls, and it would be keeping the Northern houses in mind for this new journey we’re all beginning. She’s not the conventional Lord’s daughter, but neither am I. Of course I do want you to ask if he’d agree before I ask her myself, I want the choice to ultimately be hers.”

“I’ll send a raven no later than today.”

She didn’t know if it was because of all the events that had transpired up until that moment, or the feeling of finally being heard, but she felt a huge weight fall off her shoulders, feeling freer than she had in a long time.

Even though she was on the cusp of being more constrained in life than ever before.

More than most people in their lives. 

But it didn’t feel that way.

She’d made the right choice, she realized then.

Gendry was right for her and she couldn’t be happier.

* * *

Cersei held her mild smile back at the spectacle her brother’s were making with their talk.

“I must say, in regards to our nephew, I didn’t think he had it in him.” Tyrion declared over breakfast with his siblings.

Jamie laughed, throwing a look her way that sent a fire burning through her veins.

“You can’t be serious, he’s every bit Robert’s son, I can assure you, that man made sure his son had it in him.” Jamie teased, the light hearted manner in which he said it not doing nearly enough to conceal the fact that it was true.

“And what say the Queen?” Tyrion asked, a bite of bacon hanging out of his mouth as he said it, repulsing her. “Does she approve of her successor?”

As irritating as she more often than not found her brother, he asked a very valid question.

If only she knew the answer.

“You can’t stand her, can you?” Jamie edged on, getting a snicker out of their younger brother.

Her hands clenched tightly in her lap, suppressing the urge to strangle them both for their insolence.

“I wouldn’t say that.” She answered earnestly, giving more thought to the matter that was Arya Stark.

“No? Not even after the constant talk that she resembles her aunt? The one woman to ever best you.” Tyrion continued, knowing exactly where to push.

She loathed to admit just how much of a point he had.

There was a deep well of rage she felt when her mind paused on Lyanna Stark.

She didn’t always feel hatred when it came to her husband.

Not that she’d ever say it out loud, but she once was more delighted than one would expect her to be to have been betrothed to Robert Baratheon.

There was a time where she genuinely felt something towards him.

Of course her brother had always been the keeper of her heart, but Robert in his prime was handsome, a warrior, and she was chosen to be his Queen.

It gave her more delight than she could fathom at the time.

And she had hoped that he was as impressed by her as she was by him.

But on their wedding night, it was not her name that he moaned, despite being deep inside of her, but that Stark girl’s.

The very same Stark girl that her father’s original choice for her hand had stolen and disappeared into the night with.

An entire war was started on her behalf.

You could almost admire a woman who enacted such a reaction, if you didn’t despise her for it more.

“Have I striked a nerve, beloved sister?” Tyrion continued to pester, as was his true talent in life.

“The only thing you’ve struck all your life is Father’s ire.” She fired back, hitting a relatively sore spot for her brother.

Knowing he’s never had their father’s love.

Not even for a moment.

“Is he right?” Jamie asked softly, a gentle tug to her elbow.

“About?” She edged out, growing tired of this talk.

“Has the talk of Arya’s resemblance to her Aunt gotten under your skin?”

“If it hadn’t, you two would have succeeded in making that the case.” She snapped, regretting the amount she gave away in doing so. “I love my son,” she declared. “And despite any grievances I may or may not have about his choice for a bride, I wish for his happiness above all else.”

Tyrion seemed at the very least mildly impressed with her words.

“You do love your children,” he said promptly. “It’s your one redeeming quality, that and your cheekbones.”

She fought down the smile that her face was almost betraying her to showcase.

“Let’s hope that’s enough.” Jamie muttered after a while.

She filtered out the rest of their mindless chatter, taking the time to hope for the same.

* * *

Arya gripped the pieces of parchment in her hands tightly, already in in the midst of trying to form the words in her mind that she’d need to transfer into written form.

Some might say she was moving far too quickly with certain ideas she’d had in mind.

Given that she’d only agreed to Gendry’s proposal the day before.

But she was surprised to learn that she was actually a bit excited at certain prospects that have come her way.

It had taken the rest of her morning after speaking to her parents to compose letter she was satisfied with. It had been hard to concentrate on the task she’d set aside time to do when the majority of the thoughts running through her head were of Gendry’s lips.

And how they’d felt on hers for the first time. 

She didn’t know what had come over her, kissing him the way she had. It’s not like she’d had any idea what she was doing. 

Not that it stopped her anticipation for when it’d come to pass again. 

“Busy planning, are we?” A curt voice interrupted her thoughts.

Arya made no effort to hide the groan that escaped her at the voice of one Jeyne Poole, her sister of course dutifully at her side.

“If I am, that’s no business of yours.” She replied instantly, trying to pick up her pace, in search of Ser Arys who she was counting on to bounce ideas off of.

His gigantic form had weaved his way into her every day routines, not that she’d ever readily admit it. She’d drink nothing but Ale for the rest of her life before she ever admitted Gendry might have done her a favor in assigning Ser Arys to her service.

“How quickly you forget yourself, sister.” Sansa spoke, a dangerous nature to her voice.

It was a tone that unleashed an anger she hadn’t tapped into in a long while.

She froze in her spot, turning to face her sister, regret pooling in her stomach for the relationship they regretfully have.

Even now she wondered if there was more she could’ve done to have made it better.

But looking at Sansa now, at the company she kept, she realized that there was little, if anything, she could have accomplished when it came to their sisterhood.

Lack thereof, more accurately said.

“You’re good, you know.” She told her, the disregard to Jeyne clear as she had yet to meet her gaze. “The warning about Ramsay, holding my hand when he approached me. I’ll admit I was fooled.”

Something flashed across Sansa’s eyes, whether it was shock at calling her out so directly, or disappointment that she’d question genuine moments on her part, she couldn’t tell.

Arya thought it best not to even let her answer.

“A mistake I won’t make again.” 

Sansa’s mouth opened, a snarling response on the tip of her tongue, but they were delightfully interrupted.

“My lady Arya, lady Sansa, forgive my intrusion.” Ser Arys spoke, pointedly ignoring Jeyne, which she huffed over. Arms crossed, and tears now having welled in her eyes.

“As a matter of fact, it’s no intrusion at all, I was just looking for you.” She told him, curiosity spiking at where he’d been.

“I was with the King, my lady, as well as the prince. Both of whom request an audience with you.” He formally told her, stepping to the side to make room for her to pass ahead of him in the now very crowded hallway. 

Not bothering to spare another glance towards her sister and the insufferable Jeyne, she slid past Ser Arys, walking towards the rooms that her mother had designated for the King and Queen during their stay in Winterfell.

“Did they give a reason?” She asked him, slowing down to allow him to walk beside her instead of behind her.

“I don’t think it’d be welcome for me to say Prince Gendry’s reason out loud, but the King has requested seeing you both, for official matters, I’m sure. Although I cannot say for sure, it’s not my place to ask.”

She fought down the blush at his teasing, sensing he enjoyed her reactions a great deal.

It was then that she noticed he looked as though he wanted to ask her something but refrained from doing so.

“You don’t need to hold back if you wish to say something.” She said, their steady place slowing down as they neared the King’s room.

“It wouldn’t be proper.” He rebuffed.

Arya nodded at that, but wouldn’t go quietly.

“Fine. Then I command you to speak freely.” She told him, even going so far as to stopping so she could look directly at him.

“I wonder, is all.” He muttered softly, a look of true concern etched across his face. “You don’t seem to get along with your sister.”

“I’m hardly the first person who doesn’t get along with a sibling.”

“No, of course not, but with a place as difficult as King’s Landing, you’ll forgive me if I say I’d have preferred that you did get along with her.”

This caught her immediate attention.

“And why is that?” She pressed further, not entirely sure she wanted the answer to his question.

He hesitated before answering her.

It was a pause that only put her more on edge.

“Although some might disagree, I am of a different mindset. I feel, the more people you can trust in our capital, the better. I fear for you, if even your sister won’t be one of them.”

He just as good as knocked her flat on her ass in a sparring session.

But it also enforced just how important her current plans were.

“You don’t need to be afraid for me, Ser Arys. My sister isn’t the only lady in Westeros.”

It was touching, she couldn’t deny, how concerned he was for her debut in King’s Landing.

“Is that the face of a schemer, my lady?”

She smiled mischievously.

“You’ll learn there’s a few things you can count on when it comes to me.” She indirectly confirmed, resuming their walk, a sense of security as she maneuvered with him by her side.

She could handle King’s Landing if everyone she surrounds herself with was as loyal as Ser Arys.

She was sure of it.

* * *

“This was the kind of mark I was hoping you’d make when we arrived here, you know?” His father’s voice boomed.

The set of rooms that had been provided to his father in Winterfell, a solar amongst them.

And he was putting the one in the North to far more use than the one he had back home.

The gods know his father hardly ever did any actual work, not if he could help it.

“I was unaware you actually wanted to make an impression here, father. It’s not like you indicated otherwise to me.” He grumbled, the irritation at his father claiming his betrothal as a triumph of his own.

“That girl of yours, she’s a beauty, eh? Just like my Lya...” He rambled off, which only served to enrage Gendry further.

It wouldn’t stand, his father reliving his failed engagement to Lyanna Stark through his own, to Arya.

“I urge you to mind your words, father.” He hissed.

“Oh?” His father turned towards him, having just been staring out a window, high up on Winterfell’s great walls. “And what do you pretend to be able to do about it?”

“She is to be my wife, I will not have you disrespecting her in such a manner. By picturing her as someone she isn’t. Especially when I know what it is you’re so crudely envisioning.”

The heat in his veins was unpalatable.

“Lay off it, will you? I have no intention to make any advances toward Arya Stark, tempting as it might be.” He admitted, which only angered him further.

He didn’t wish being repulsed by you’re own father on anyone. 

But it was his truth.

“Do you hear yourself sometimes?”

“Watch it, boy.” His father warned, as was because the new normal for them.

Gendry groaned, growing tired of the constant arguments he and his father continue to fall into.

It was inevitable any time they were left alone for too long a time.

And currently, they were left to their own devise awaiting Arya’s arrival.

He was eager to see her again.

Had yet to see her since they were yanked apart last night after she’d accepted his proposal.

“When you pleaded with me on our ride up to the gate’s, I thought you were bloody mad.”

Gendry raised an eyebrow at his father confessing that as though it wasn’t something he already knew.

It was a sense of pleading to his father’s sensitive state when it came to his own failed relationships. He’d taken advantage of his sentiments when it came to marriage to get him to agree.

There was a slight sense of guilt he felt towards having done so.

But given that it worked and he was now betrothed to Arya, he found it very difficult to care that he’d done it.

“I know,” he told his father at last, having left him to suffer in silence for long enough.

“Worked out though, didn’t it?”

Gendry laughed at that, appreciate the lighter turn their conversation had taken.

Because it had worked out.

He knew that this thing with Arya was just beginning and once they made it to King’s Landing, that was where the real uphill battle was.

He desperately hoped that they were strong enough to withstand it.

The capital isn’t known for it’s forgiving nature.

When there was a knock at the door he breathed a sigh of relief.

Ser Arys opened the door, side-stepping so Arya could pass through.

“The lady Arya Stark, your grace.” He addressed his father first, and then him. “My prince.”

Gendry nodded in gratitude, not taking his eyes off of Arya for even a moment.

Her curly waves were almost entirely loose, a small arrangement of the hair at the top of her head keeping any strands out of her face.

Arya’s gray eyes were as enticing as ever.

Her dress was as they usually were, simple, but accentuating to her curves.

Curves he was growing very fond of, having only recently held her in his arms for the first time.

“Your grace,” she curtsied, her eyes giving away how much she loathed to do it.

It was no matter.

Soon, she’d only have his parents to curtsy to.

He found he longed for the time when everyone in Westeros would be required to curtsy to her—-as his wife.

It was a sight he was eager to see.

His heart warmed when she reached out for his hand.

He took it eagerly, pulling her towards him, switching the hand he grasped hers with. Moving the other to rest across her lower back, keeping her tethered to his side.

They stood before his father, tall and proud.

“I’m taking this time to offer my sincerest and more calm congratulations. I know my initial one was...loud.”

Gendry blinked back at what he could almost be fooled was a genuine attempt at sincerity.

The confusion must have been too clearly shown on his face because Arya stepped into reply on their behalf.

“Thank you, your grace,” she accepted, a forced smile on the corner of her lips.

“We leave in one week’s time, I suggest you get your affairs in order. That goes for you too,” he addressed towards him, attached to a stern glare. “I’ve sent a raven informing the small council of the betrothal, they will begin the preparations for the joint-feast. Celebrating the union of our houses, as well as my new hand.”

Gendry winced, hoping his father’s words that usually followed such an announcement wouldn’t come next.

He could not bare a tourney—-

“There will be a tourney to celebrate.”

He made no attempt to contain his groan, his head falling back in disarray, leaving Arya to stifle a giggle at his antics.

“Damn.” He cursed.

“My son, you’ll find, is vehemently against the majority of my decisions.”

“Hardly,” he snapped, despite how true that was. “I’m against gatherings, which you know.”

“That’s quite alright, I’ve had to put up with my fair share of gatherings over the years. I also know there’ll be a great deal of them in my future. All of which I can overlook, if I can make a single adjustment to a particular one.”

His father looked at her curiously, a smile just underneath the surface at her boldness to so openly try and negotiate with him.

“And what adjustment would that be, lady Arya?”

“When I wed your son, it is my hope that you’ll do me the honor of not subjecting me to a bedding ceremony.” Her voice was stern and convincing.

“They’re the law, young lady,” he returned angrily.

“They most certainly are not!” She gasped. “Tradition is not law,” she continued. “And let me be clear, I’ll stab anyone who lays a hand on me.”

Gendry didn’t know whether to step in or let her remarks play out.

“You’re talking to the King, girl!”

“And why would the King agree to all the noblemen of Westeros seeing his good-daughter in nothing but a night gown? If I’m to be a formidable Princess of Westeros, I’d like the knowledge that the men of all your kingdom’s haven’t seen every bit of me.”

“I must insist on her request, father. Adamantly,” he added after a moment, unsure of what exactly the man before him was thinking.

“There’s a surprise,” he grumbled, taking a seat at the desk provided for him in the room. “They warned me of you before I left King’s Landing. Said I should push for your sister for this match because she would be more...agreeable.”

This surprised him.

He’d received no indication that those in King’s Landing had a preference when his family rode for Winterfell.

That wouldn’t do.

He’d have to write to Mya and ensure that she was getting a decent read from those so often lurking at court.

“Why was I not informed of such preferences?” He spat out, a sense of betrayal seeping in.

“A lot of good it would’ve done, or have you forgotten the speech I was boasted by on our journey here?”

“But don’t you think I should’ve been consulted about such sentiments back home? I won’t have her attacked.”

“By the seven, stop your whining, would you?” His father yelled, with a slam of his fists. “As much in the forefront as you’ve been in recent months, the small council and those employed by House Baratheon, don’t report to you. I am still their King and whatever I want kept confined will remain as such.”

He felt Arya’s hand tighten in his grasp, their sweaty palms having been encased for quite some time now.

“That being said, I’m not fond of those employed by me, even less of those employed by your mother and that wretched father of hers. And make no mistake, there are many of them in our capital. They dictate enough already, I won’t have them in control of your choices too.”

His heart just barely warmed at those words.

That his father kept him out of the loop in good faith for his choices was unprecedented and something he wasn’t in the slightest bit expecting.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, girl.” He turned his attention back to Arya, reluctantly impressed that she had yet to cower in his presence.

Gendry wasn’t the least bit surprised to turn towards Arya and have her smiling at that assessment. 

“So I’ve often been told,” she relented.

“You remind me a lot of someone I knew a long time ago, I’m sure your father has mentioned.”

“He has,” she confirmed. “Always with a sadness, but he has spoken of it, albeit briefly.”

He could see Arya grow uneasy as this particular topic dragged on, the constant comparison to a woman long lost taking an effect on her.

“I’ll agree to your request,” his voice unreadable to him. It was somber and more sober than he’d ever heard him. “But make no mistake, I won’t have you twisting my arm in your favor again. My...gratitude towards your father and—remembrance—towards your aunt, do not grant you my favor.”

“Understood, but I thank you—truly.”

“I won’t pretend to concern myself with the matter of getting your affairs in order. That is best suited in the hands of the Queen, you would do well not to cross her when it comes to those things. And do not expect me to step in on your behalf. The matters of women are of little consequence to me.”

Gendry cursed under his breath.

His father couldn’t handle even slightly coming across decent without saying something almost immediately after that reminisced anyone in their presence his true nature.

“Was that necessary?” He couldn’t help but blurting out. “I think I’m not exaggerating when I say that very few matters are of any consequence to you.”

“Gendry—“ Arya tried to intervene.

“Now you listen here, you little shit, I won’t have you disrespecting me publicly.”

He hmphed at that, shrugging to himself, relishing in the feel of Arya’s hand in his.

“Because respect is such an important ideal for you?” He challenged, hauling Arya with him as moved closer towards his father. “You don’t give a shit about the disrespect you force my mother to endure or the reputation you’ve developed. Do whatever you damn well please with me, but you won’t humiliate Arya as you do my mother, I forbid it.”

He heaved, a nervous tick to his words.

A look flashed across his father’s face that he wasn’t accustomed to seeing.

It was one of reluctance to argue with him.

A rarity.

His father was many things, none of them traits he admired, but even he knew when he was properly boxed in a corner.

His mother’s humiliation was no secret, not to him and his siblings, nor to anyone else in Westeros. If he’d ever even tried to hide his disdain for his wife, he failed miserably and he knows it.

“I think I’ve heard enough of you for one day, Gendry.” He relinquished, immediately moving to pour himself a goblet of wine.

It was a sight he was very accustomed to.

Few things were more of a priority to him than his drinking, whatever time of the day it may be.

“So be it. If you’ll excuse us.”

Arya hesitated before she moved, glaring wearily between the two.

The last thing he wanted was for her to think that the nature in which the conversation ended, had anything to do with her.

He could note the pondering on her face, a dread, as though something she’d said had been the cause.

“By your leave, your grace,” she formally acknowledged, curtsying once more before leading him out of the room.

Gendry barely allowed himself to close the door behind him before he hauled her close, pressing his lips to hers.

Whatever words she’d been about to say were swallowed as soon as she’d opened her mouth.

Her small hands reached up to cup his face, a habit of hers he was becoming very fond of.

But their spontaneous moment was short-lived, a clearing of the throat heard loudly in the quiet hallway.

Arya pulled away first, blushing once she caught sight of Ser Arys standing guard outside the door.

It would appear she’d forgotten about him.

So had he, but he’d done so on purpose.

Arya reached for his arm, pinching him slightly, earning a sharp hiss in return.

“Ow!’ He whispered into her neck, a gentle squeeze to her mid-section,

“Now is not the time.” She warned, swatting at his grip, the color on her cheeks growing darker by the second.

“Because there’s so often a better time.” Ser Arys joked, the sound of his armor clanging out as he hunched over in laughter.

He too found humor in the brave Arya Stark being slightly flustered.

“That was quite a show you put on in there, love.” He spoke after a while, gently nudging her face back towards his. “Had I known you were going to outright announce your demands, I’d have been better prepared. I could’ve helped.”

She raised her chin in defiance.

“I got it done, didn’t I?”

Gendry could do nothing but marvel at her.

Because she sure had.

* * *

Arya sat across from the Queen and her mother, their stern gazes harsh enough to sink any person, man or woman, to their knees.

The pressure was insurmountable.

An edged remark was on the tip of her tongue.

But should her tongue slip in front of the Queen, she was surely to never hear the end of it. She had hoped to make it to the rookery and to see Rowena before being pulled into any more encounters. However, like her own parents, Gendry’s parents also had much to discuss with her. 

“It’s interesting, I’d heard you had a proclivity for quick-fired comments, or did that only apply to your conversations with my husband and my son?” Queen Cersei’s delighted face was well-hidden behind her cup of tea, but it was hard to misjudge her tone.

If only she could determine whether they were comments she was amused to have heard or insulted by.

Judging by what Gendry had disclosed to her of his parents relationship, she had a difficult time imagining the Queen being offended about something on her husband’s behalf.

Even if that husband was the King of Westeros.

“Well, that would be news to me.” Her mother spoke, the displeasure clearly expressed in every word and gaze she gave.

Arya refrained from wincing.

It would be of no surprise to her mother to hear of her—character—but there’s no doubt that she’d expected her to have reigned it in whilst the royal family was visiting.

Being betrothed to the Prince be damned.

Her mother demanded nothing but the best, especially from her.

Despite how often she let her down in those regards, it’s never stopped her.

“It would seem she made quite the spectacle to my beloved husband, of course he was amused by it, so I think it all worked out in the end. Although I don’t recommend it becoming a permanent fixture.” She warned.

“Understood,” she relented. “The King mentioned something similar.”

Queen Cersei’s eyebrow raised at this.

It was all too clear to her that Gendry’s detailing of his parents wasn’t exaggerated. There doesn’t seem to be any good standing between them whatsoever.

“Excellent.” She spoke, her face tight, eloquently concealing any and every emotion she was feeling. “It would serve us well to all be on the same page. Now, I’m told you wish for the polishing,” she chose carefully, “of your edges be conducted by someone other than your septa, do I have that right?”

Arya nodded quickly.

“That can most certainly be arranged, I’ll provide a full list of recommendations to you and your mother, you may do with it as you wish. The next matter of business will be your ladies, essential for any Princess, I assure you. I took great care with Myrcella’s, as well as my own.”

This was a topic that unnerved her greatly.

How exactly was she to admit that she had an almost full list of ladies in mind for the daunting task that was accompanying her day-to-day life in King’s Landing.

Aside from how unconventional her picks were, she was struggling to muster up the courage to ask.

It’s a request she’d hate to receive herself, how was she to ask other girls her age to endure it?

“I take it you already have some in mind?” The Queen interrupted her thoughts. “I am sure you and your mother will come to many arguments over such arrangements. I can only imagine what my own mother would’ve had to say at the women I surrounded myself with. But it is because of my mother that I know how important a Queen’s ladies are. She was one of Queen Rhaella’s ladies-in-waiting, since she’d been Princess.”

“My mother always spoke very fondly of your mother. My father did too, always said she made your father most agreeable.” Her mother shared.

For whatever reason, Cersei’s smile felt very real.

And she truly believed that it was.

“Thank you, truly.” The Queen said softly, departing from the niceties as quickly as she’d succumbed to them. “We have a very busy journey ahead of us, certain things will need to be arranged before our arrival in King’s Landing, most of which you can leave to me, like the preparations of your rooms. I’ll write immediately to ensure it’s perfection by the time you arrive.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

The Queen shrugged, her decorum never faltering, no matter the topic of conversation.

“It’s nothing you won’t learn to do yourself one day, so pay close attention, Arya. The quicker you learn, the easier life in the capital will be. That’s your first lesson.”

Arya couldn’t tell whether it was excitement or dread that had settled in the pit of her stomach.

It was only a matter of time till she discovered exactly which one it was.

* * *

Rowena wiped down the counters, hoping to be back at the orphanage before supper to help the other girls.

The day had been a difficult one.

She’d been grabbed more than once that day, an insufferable amount of men trying to lay claim to her.

She feared a time that may one day come where she won’t be able to stop them.

“I was hoping to still find you here!” A voice called out to her, she turned to find Arya standing before her.

Her good friend having no doubt changed from whatever fancy clothes she’d been forced to wear earlier, for she stood before her in simple cotton now.

“Hey,” she spoke softly, “you alright?”

Rowen nodded, gaining her composure that had almost broken so many times.

“Hard day, is all.” She whispered, tugging Arya to a table in the corner.

Arya’s gaze softened, her big, doe eyes always showing how truly earnest her sentiments were. Her best friend had never shown her any of the looks she’d grown to hate over time, like pity, or disgust.

“So let me help.”

It was her most constant line of words to her. And her heart grew each and every time she offered.

“There’s not much you could do, Arya, beside’s you’ve done enough for me already.” The girl now sitting across from her had never once left her behind, not in her thoughts, nor in her plans.

And although that was soon going to change once she trekked South to the capital, she couldn’t be happier for her.

“There’s always something I can do.” She countered quickly, accepting the cup of whatever mystery concoction her boss was walking around offering. “In fact, I’d say I have more leverage than ever now.”

Rowena perked up at that.

“Oh?” She took the cup right out of her hand, tasting the liquid inside, it’s the first she’d had to drink all day.

The wince at the taste was almost immediate.

Gods, whatever that was, it was vile.

Arya shrugged, chugging more of it once she handed it back to her.

“Don’t know if you heard, but Ramsay’s in town.”

Rowena’s heart started pounding, knowing all about that self-serving prick. About what he’d done, and what he wanted to do to Arya.

“Since when?” She hissed, suddenly growing suspicious of everyone around her. “Why are you even here, have you gone mad? You shouldn’t be outside Winterfell’s walls, Arya.”

Arya sighed heavily, about to answer, before they were interrupted.

“Now that is something I agree with.”

Rowena turned to where the voice came from, seeing the crown prince and two of members of the Kingsguard standing behind him.

She stood immediately, giving a swift but sloppy curtsy.

The look on his face could do the work of scarecrows.

“Seven hells,” Arya muttered under her breath, not even trying to look like she was going to stand up formally.

“Yes, that was precisely Ser Arys’ reaction once he realized he’d lost track of you.” He said, his voice so strained that it reflected in his posture.

“Lady Arya, I left you in the rookery with Maester Luwin to send your letters, you were supposed to meet me outside the great hall.” The taller Kingsguard spoke, his voice exasperated, as though he hadn’t stopped running once in the last hour at least.

Arya had the confidence to look pleased with herself, even as three men stood before her, livid as can be.

Prince Gendry dragged a chair from a nearby table and put it right next to Arya’s, and sat down.

They were shoulder to shoulder with these blinding smiles at one another.

Something was different about them now, but she couldn’t quite place what it was. The last time she’d seen the two of them together, they were both nervous wrecks.

But now—one could almost assume they were rather comfortable with one another.

Exceedingly so.

“Wait a minute,” she blurted out, glad that the Inn was empty for an entirely new reason.

“There’s much you need to be caught up on.” The one that the prince had referred to as Ser Arys, said to her.

“By all means, please do inform me.”

“You will do no such thing, Ser Arys!” Arya shouted, earning a lovesick grin from the prince at her side. “I had come here to do that myself before the two of you so rudely interrupted. And you even brought Ser Barristan into it too, isn’t he supposed to be guarding your father?”

“Don’t presume to lecture me about who guards who, Arya, I think you’ve lost the right to do that.” Prince Gendry looked about as exasperated as she’s ever seen a person.

It took a great deal not to laugh in his face over it.

“I hope you don’t intend to continue this behavior once we’re in King’s Landing,” he continued.

“And if I do?” She challenged, earning the warm smiles of the two men standing guard.

“I think you’ll find that a Princess won’t be allowed such a courtesy and I’d love to see you try.”

Rowena winced at the squeal she involuntarily left let out.

“Figures, you’d ruin what I came here to do.” Arya drowned the rest of what was in her glass, grimacing at the taste, quickly hiding it with a sharp glare at Ser Arys for chuckling.

Rowena placed her hands over her heart in a joking manner, content to tease her newfound favorite couple when she could.

“Well, not entirely, there’s something else I’d come here to say, to ask really,” she continued.

This piqued Rowena’s interests.

“If I’ll miss you?” She blurted out, “only always,” she told her earnestly.

Arya’s eyes twinkled, in a way she’d come to love whenever she had something mischievous up her sleeve.

“If you’ll come with me.”

Rowena gasped, her hands splaying out over her heart once more.

Only this time in shock.

* * *

Arya was almost too distracted at the feeling of Gendry’s hand in hers to truly appreciate the stunned look on Rowena’s face.

There was arguably a ton of things that Rowena had been expecting her to say, but she’d taken her by surprise with three things all at once.

First with the news of Ramsay’s presence.

Then Gendry letting it slip that she’d accepted his offer for her hand.

And now, that she wanted her to come with her all the way to King’s Landing.

“You want me to come with you?” The blonde asked, doubt written all over her. “To do what, exactly?”

A fair question, she realized.

“To be one of my ladies,” she told her, as simply as the idea had entered her mind in the first place.

“I—but that can’t be proper, can it? Aren’t you supposed to pick...fancy ladies, from families as grand as yours.”

“I don’t think Arya’s been proper a day in her life.” Gendry said, shying away from the quick pinch she laid to his arm, despite how true his words were.

“I’ll have proper ladies too, but even my choosing of them will be met with scrutiny, as will Gendry’s choosing of me. So I figured we can all endure it together.”

As confidently as she’d admitted that, deep down she was agonizing over it. 

“Have you made your final list, love?” Gendry asked her, she lowered her head, cheeks flushing as he used such an endearment so publicly.

Arya could only hum in response.

She had been ready to drop the matter until later when they could discuss it but there was something darling about his look of curiosity.

“There’s Rowena, of course, I’ve had my father write to Lord Howland Reed, see if he’d be willing to part with his daughter Meera, she’s...like me, we’ve always gotten along. I needed someone from the North to maintain our ties, especially if Robb marries a southern bride.” Gendry nodded at her analysis. “I was thinking of asking your sister, do you think she’ll accept? I’ll need someone to teach me all about King’s Landing and from what I hear, she sounds perfect.”

His smile warmed her down to her very toes, she so desperately wanted to kiss him.

“I can’t say for sure, Mya does whatever she pleases, but I’ll write to her.”

She was happy with that.

“Shireen too,” she revealed, not missing the shock on his face as he said so. “I won’t have her holed up on Dragonstone if she doesn’t have to be, I need to at least try.” She explained.

“I don’t know how successful your efforts will be, but I know Shireen will greatly appreciate it.”

“And I was thinking someone from Dorne, relations between your houses are idle at best, maybe if the offer comes from me...” she trailed, wondering if he was gonna stop her train of thought before she’d finished, or at the very least mention that an offer from a Stark might not be well-received by the Martell’s either.

He considered her words carefully, a look to the Kingsguard standing by their side’s, trying to gauge their thoughts on the matter.

“It would help repair their trust with the crown, if they accept, especially since you have no Lannister blood in you. But your family hasn’t dealt in southern politics for a long time, I’d be surprised if they didn’t hold ill-will towards your family too, it was your father’s sister Rhaegar left Elia Martell for, I implore you not to forget that. Who do you have in mind?”

“One of Prince Oberyn’s daughter’s? Prince Doran wouldn’t send his only daughter.”

“I’ll have to mention it to my father, my mother won’t like it, but if he agrees, she won’t be able to put a stop to it.”

“You two seem to have it all figured out then, don’t you?” Rowena spoke to them.

Arya scoffed, leaning back in her chair.

“Hardly, but we’re not at each other’s throats yet so I’ll call it a good day.”

Gendry nodded to agree with her. His demeanor was always so soothing to her.

It wasn’t long before Arya realized that Rowena hadn’t answered her question.

“Dear friend, will you agree to join us?”

Rowena swallowed nervously, her eyes darting around the alehouse, to her, to Gendry, to the two members of the Kingsguard, and back to her—but she looked no more certain of herself than she had just mere seconds before.

“What if I do this and you realize you’ve made a mistake?”

“I won’t.” She said instantly.

“You don’t know that, Arya! What if all that comes of it is me causing problems for you, there’s no going back after that.”

“Good, I won’t want to go back. I’m taking this...gigantic leap and it would mean the world if I didn’t have to take it without you.”

Rowena’s eyes watered, her blonde hair falling over her face in her hunched over state.

Gendry looked to her, his eyes quickly darting to the girl before them, a silent request on his part to partake in their conversation.

She jerked her head.

“Rowena,” Gendry started, his involvement only unnerving her more. “When I arrived here today, you thought exactly as I did about Arya’s leaving of Winterfell. We may not know each other a great deal, but I’d welcome anyone in King’s Landing who cares about Arya’s safety as much as I do.”

Arya frowned at his train of thought. It was inevitable that they would come to argue about her leaving the castle, and evading Ser Arys to do it, but she’d never been beholden to someone’s rules before and she didn’t intend to start now.

Rowena seemed to grow at ease with Gendry’s words, but her hesitance still lingered.

“I won’t know what to do.” She admitted.

It was that easily that Arya felt her kinship to her dear friend grow even stronger.

“Neither will I,” she said, “we’ll figure it out together.”

* * *

“How’d you find me here?” Arya had her and Gendry’s arms firmly intertwined as they walked through the town.

The question had barely been out of her mouth before Nymeria leapt towards them from her resting spot outside the tavern.

She rubbed herself against their legs, a soft whine to go with the gesture.

Arya’s mouth gaped at the revelation.

“My own direwolf, a traitor, I can hardly believe it. You’re supposed to be on my side, Nym.” She joked.

“She is,” Gendry asserted. “That’s why she led us here, it wasn’t safe, Arya.”

An anger began to bubble deep within her.

“I may have agreed to marry you, but that doesn’t give you free reign over my whereabouts, Gendry.”

She couldn’t tell if the red on his face was out of anger or embarrassment.

“I’m not trying to reign over where you go, but even you can’t deny the truth. Until that prick has gone back to the Dreadfort—“

“And if I don’t?” A cold voice called out to them.

Arya froze where she stood, her hands loosened, falling to her sides.

Gendry was steaming beside her at the sight of the person who now stood before them.

Ramsay Bolton and that shit-eating grin of his.

Alone.

And without his father to reign him in. 

**Author's Note:**

> So I have four chapters of this done so far, right now it'll be 20 but I might change it to less or more depending on the ending of my outline. As of currently I have the fic ending with Robert's death and Gendry and Arya becoming King and Queen, but I'm not sold on it yet. I'm thinking a chapter a week, or every two weeks. I mentioned in the tags but Sansa and Arya won't get along for a while, they definitely will eventually, but seeing as how this is a fic that I kinda decided to do specifically so I could really delve into Arya's inner-narrative of self-esteem, it will be a while before they do. But I'm excited! 
> 
> Lemme know what you guys think, what you'd like to see, give me all your thoughts! You can find me over at klarolinedrabbles on tumblr if you'd like to chat! This is one of my favorite AU's and I finally worked up the courage to give a go myself. There's a lot I won't keep from the series, like I'm not gonna have Daenerys invade or anything, I might have her pop up though in some other way, I'm still figuring that one out. Would you guys prefer Cersei's villainous tendencies, Joffrey's obviously still trash, so he'll be a point of conflict, send me your thoughts, ya'll. I'm open to anything!


End file.
